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Father Billy 




Father Billy 


Father Billy 

Incidents and Anecdotes in the 
Life of a Well-known Pastor 


By 

REV. JOHN E. GRAHAM 

Author of “Mere Hints” 



1 * 

> ) y 


PHILADELPHIA 

H. L. K I L N E R & Co. 
PUBLISHERS 











3/fl is, 

A r 


Copyright, 1923, by 
H. L. Kilner & Co. 




SEP 24’23 


©C1A7S0024 

'WO 1 


DEDICATION 


To all the Father Billys in the land: 

Whose names and deeds may never be blazoned 
on the pages of history, 

But will ever be found written deep in the 
hearts of their people, 

Not brilliant scholars, but wise counsellors; 

Who may not be able to quote St. Thomas 
verbatim, 

But are always sought out zuhen there is need 
of solid, practical judgment. 

The plain (( soggarths aroon” who spring from 
the loins of the people, 

And pay back their debts with the coin of 
their own hearts of gold. 

The tireless, unselfish men zvho go through life, 
unsparing of their time and strength, bear¬ 
ing their own and their people’s burdens 
with a smile on their lips and a smile in 
their eyes, and a jest for all, as though 
they had never a care in the world. 

Whose left hand never knows what their right 
hand does. 

Whose genial wit and sunny nature bring cheer 
and blessed forgetfulness into myriads of 
dark and dreary lives. 

The true and tried friends of the poor and 
afflicted, 

This book is appreciatively inscribed. 






CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. Father “Bully” and Sister Rosie. 9 

II. Father Billy on the Rosary. 12 

III. The Trick the Students Played 

Father Billy on St. Patrick’s 
Day .. 19 

IV. Father Billy’s “Handy Andy” 

Sexton . 24 

V. How Father Billy Treated His 

Assistants. 29 

VI. Father Billy’s Dream About the 

Grand Monsignor. 35 

VII. Father Billy at the Alumni 

Gathering. 41 

VIII. Father Billy’s Famous Talk to 

the Seminarians . 52 

IX. Father Billy as a Money-Getter 

and a Money-Spender. 55 

X. How Billy Got Even With the 

Dapper Father O’Rourke. 62 

XI. Rosie’s Announcement. 65 

XII. The Confirmation Dinner. 67 

XIII. Father Billy on the Joys of Coun¬ 

try Life . 74 

XIV. Father O’Brien Goes to the 

Country .. 86 

XV. Father Billy Makes the “Grand 

Tour” . 101 

XVI. In the “Ould Dart”. 108 

















CONTENTS —Continued 


Chapter Page 

XVII. At Glendalough of the Seven 

Churches . 117 

XVIII. Two Days at Roscommon. 124 

XIX. Northward Ho! . 133 

XX. In Scotland. 135 

XXI. Off to Albion . 144 

XXII. Rosie Gets a Letter from Abroad. 154 

XXIII. Father Cahalan to Father James 

Flynn. 164 

XXIV. Homeward Bound. 178 

XXV. The Last Travelogue. 182 

XXVI. Father Billy and His Comical 

Young Protege . 188 

XXVII. Father Billy Throws a Monkey- 

Wrench . 192 

XXVIII. Father Billy's Pet Charges. 194 

XXIX. Billy's Rencontre With the Emi¬ 
nent Psychologist . 198 

XXX. A Word of Advice. 200 

XXXI. More Telephone Trouble. 206 

XXXII. When Priests Go Wrong. 212 

XXXIII. Bits of Clerical Gossip and 

Wisdom . 220 

XXXIV. When the Vicar-General Handed 

in His Resignation. 226 

XXXV. Father Spillane's Wrath at the 

Bishop's Sermon . 228 

XXXVI. How the Wily Pastor Fooled the 

School Examiners . 230 

XXXVII. Afterword . 233 


! 






















FATHER BILLY 

i 

FATHER “BULLY” AND SISTER ROSIE 

To his friends and cronies, he was always 
Father Billy. Father “Bully” he called himself. 
Rosie always spoke of him as Father Willum. 
When I first met him, he was well on in years; 
slow of foot and growing somewhat feeble. With 
the exception of his eye, there was nothing about 
him to attract much attention. If you failed to 
catch that eye, you would scarcely have given 
him a second glance. 

Short, rather dumpy, red of face and white 
of hair. That about describes him. All but the 
eyes; and, as I have said, and tried hard to im¬ 
press upon you, they were the most, and the 
only, conspicuous features in his physical make¬ 
up. Blue in color, merry, joyous, twinkling, mis¬ 
chievous, shrewd, kindly, sympathetic, by turns; 
they gave the key to the character and heart 
of the man. 

Rosie was Father Billy's sister and house¬ 
keeper. So far as bodily and facial moulding 
went, she was Billy’s female counterpart. No 

9 


10 


FATHER BILLY 


one with half an eye would have had any trouble 
in recognizing the near relationship. But there 
the resemblance ended. 

For Rosie had not her reverend brother’s eyes; 
neither had she his keen sense of wit and humor. 
But she did have what he lacked—or appeared 
to lack—a determination approaching almost to 
hardness. 

Whether from fear or reverence, perhaps a 
bit of both—what we are wont to style reverential 
fear—Father Billy generally did what Sister 
Rosie advised; or, if he didn’t, he took every care 
not to let her know he didn’t. Whatever the 
reason, the bald fact remains that Father Billy 
was controlled as absolutely by Rosie as any 
henpecked husband ever was by his doughty 
spouse. At least so far as appearances went. 

Billy was the first of this interesting pair to 
reach Columbia’s hospitable shores. Educated 
partly at the missionary seminary of All Hallows, 
in Ireland, he came to this country as a young 
theologian, got the finishing touches at the 
famous seminary of St. B. in M-and, after or¬ 

dination, settled down to work in the diocese 

of B-n. As soon as he was able, he sent for 

Rosie; but she didn’t become his housekeeper, of 
course, till he had a house of his own to keep, 
which was some years later. At the time he en¬ 
ters upon the stage of this biography, he is pas- 




FATHER “BULLY” AND SISTER ROSIE 11 


tor of one of the most important parishes of his 
diocese, in one of the big university towns. 

With this brief sketch of Father Billy and 
Sister Rosie, I shall now proceed to let this 
worthy twain talk and act for themselves. 


II 


FATHER BILLY ON THE ROSARY 

Our hero was by no manner of means a great 
orator. In fact himself would have been the 
first to disclaim the title. He never rehearsed his 
sermons before the looking-glass; never prepared 
his gestures; never practiced the crescendos and 
diminuendos of tone. And, to tell the truth, it 
wouldn’t have helped matters much if he had. 

If the orator, like the poet, is born, not made, 
Billy never had a chance in the world to be¬ 
come a Bossuet, or a Tom Burke. For one thing, 
his high-pitched, rather squeaky voice was 
against him. For another, he was temperament¬ 
ally unfitted to play the part. He had no patience 
with what he termed the “fandangos” of popular 
pulpiteers, and used to get a good bit of pleasure 
from poking good-natured fun at their cut-and- 
dried orations. 

That doesn’t mean, by long odds, that he was 
an uninteresting talker. He couldn’t be dull 
if he tried. And people—not alone the simple 
or poorly educated, but likewise the sophisticated, 
and the university men—listened to him with 
far more attention than they gave to more pre- 

12 


FATHER BILLY ON THE ROSARY 13 


tentious preachers; and got far more pleasure 
and profit from Ms talks. 

For, though he was not a profoundly learned 
man, he was an eminently sensible and a prac¬ 
tical one. He knew vastly better than many of 
the celebrated pulpit orators how to reach and 
hold his audience—knew just what to say, and 
when and how to say it. It was a rare thing to 
find anyone asleep during either his announce¬ 
ments or his discourses. 

His very quaintness and oddities, and the 
“bulls” which he was pretty sure to spring some 
time or other, before he got through, helped to 
sustain the attention of his hearers, and keep 
alive the remembrance of his instructions. If 
he had deliberately cultivated his style or man¬ 
nerisms, he couldn’t have adopted a better way 
of assuring the desired effect. 

And he knew a thing or two about sermons and 
sermonizing. He had very definite views on the 
subject; and these views aided a number of his 
assistants to make their mark as strong preachers 
later on. He used to say that the studied tricks 
of the book-made “orator” hampered, instead of 
helping, the delivery of his message. “If a man,” 
said he, “knows perfectly well what he wants to 
say, and sets his thoughts in order, and, above 
all, if he is thoroughly on fire with the importance 
of his subject, the rest will follow naturally. 



14 


FATHER BILLY 


“It may be alright, it may even be a necessity, 
for timid beginners to rehearse and mimorize, 
but the sooner they can dispinse with these, the 
betther. Writing is always to be comminded. It 
helps to put logic, or order, into a sermon. But 
it’s bad to be a slave to words. I’ve always found 
that, whin wan has something worth while to 
say, something which himself feels deeply, he 
can readily enough find words to express it. 

“The raison why so manny are only ‘sounding 
brass and tinkling cymbals,’ is that themselves 
are not raly in earnest. They say something be¬ 
cause they have to—a painful duty—and they 
say it in a lifeless hum-dhrum way, like a school¬ 
boy reciting a mimorized spache. And, of course, 
the thing falls flat. What else could you expect? 

“Unless the preacher himself is saturated 
through and through with the thruth and impor¬ 
tance of his subject, he will never, in God’s 
world, move or convince his hearers. A routine, 
matther-of-fact, dhry-as-dust recitation is but 
time wasted. It is earnestness that makes the big 
difference between the rhetorician or elocutionist, 
and the ginuine orator.” 

Anent preachers who pay more attention to 
their delivery than to the subject-matter of their 
talks, he was fond of quoting the comments of 
James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd (from the 
“Noctes Ambrosianae”): “Gin the meenister has 


FATHER BILLY ON THE ROSARY 15 


ony action—say, jooking down his head, or see¬ 
sawin’ wi’ his hauns, or leanin’ ower, as if he 
wanted to speak wi’ the precentor, or keepin’ 
his een fixed on the roof as if there were a hole 
in’t lettin’ in the licht o’ heaven, or turnin’ first 
to the ae side and then to the ither, that the 
congregation may have an equal share o’ his front 
pheesiognomy as weel’s his side face, or standin’ 
bolt upright in the verra middle o’ the poopit, 
wi’oot even ance movin’ ony mair gin he were 
a corp set up on end by some cantrip, and lettin’ 
oot the dry, dusty, moral apothems wi’ ae con¬ 
tinued and monotonous girn—oh, Mr. North, Mr. 
North, could even an evil conscience keep awake 
under such soporifics, ony mair that the honestest 
o’ men, were the banns cried for the third time, 
and he gaun to be married on the Monday 
mornin’?” 

And touching the preacher who writes his 
sermon according to the rules of rhetoric, and 
for the sake of effect, he used to say, with old 
Christopher North: 

“He chuckles inwardly before he delivers the 
blow that tells, and, at the close of every climax, 
the inward man exclaims: ‘What a fine boy am 
I!’ He dares some antagonist to the fight who 
has been dead for a hundred years; digs up 
such of his bones as are yet unmouldered, and 
erects them into a skeleton figure veiled with 



16 


FATHER BILLY 


its cerements. There stands the champion of 
infidelity; and there the defender of the faith. 
Twenty to one—flesh against bones—and, at the 
first facer, Hume or Voltaire is grassed and gives 
in! The pride of the presbytery is in high con¬ 
dition, and kicks his prostrate foe till the shroud 
rings again like a bag of bones.” 

Little use had the good Father for sermon 
books. “Whin a man laves the siminary,” said 
he, “if he has made proper use of his time, he 
should have material enough to get up his own 
sermons. They may not be as good as the book 
sermons, but they will be far betther for 
the pracher. They are his own at any rate; hon¬ 
estly come by. And the fact that he has put 
his own hard work into thim, will make him 
all the more eager to do full justice to them.” 

As to filching another’s sermons bodily, the 
very thought was an abomination—anathema 
tnaranatha—to him. “It is a rare man annyhow,” 
he would maintain, “scarce one in a multitude, 
that can adopt successfully another man’s way 
of expressing himself. 

“Take Cardinal Newman’s discourses, for ex¬ 
ample. They were well suited to the people for 
whom he wrote, but there isn’t a congregation 
that I know of today where they would fit in. 
You have to adapt your talks to the capacity 
and the wants of your audience. Besides, it was 



FATHER BILLY ON THE ROSARY 17 


not only Newman’s matther, but also his manner, 
that made his sermons so attractive and effective. 
And show me the man who can assume that with 
propriety. 

“Which reminds me,” he would finish, “of a 
criticism I once heard from our ould Siminary 
Director: ‘There are two things to be considered 
in this performance/ said he, ‘the matther and 
the manner. The matther, which was not the 
gentleman’s own, was very good. The manner, 
which was the gentleman’s own, was very bad!’ ” 

Well, that’s a very long preface to a very short 
story. W 7 hat I started out to tell you about was 
the finish of the venerable pastor’s sermon on 
the Rosary. 

I said the finish, not the whole discourse. It 
was a thoroughly good talk, even for Father 
Billy, for the subject itself was one very dear 
to the old man’s heart. After giving the origin 
and history of the devotion, and accounting for 
its universal popularity among all classes, edu¬ 
cated and uneducated, simple and sophisticated, 
clergy and laity, he wound up his fervid appeal 
with the following never-to-be-forgotten words: 

“If anny of ye have been backsliding in this 
beautiful tribute to God’s own Mother, now is 
the time for ye to come back to your duty. Take 
the resolution before ye lave the church, to say 
the Beads every day during this month of Oc- 


18 


FATHER BILLY 


tober. And not only that, but every day of your 
life that God gives ye yonr health and strength 
to pray at all. And, in order that ye may not 
forget yere resolution, let all of ye, min and 
women, boys and gerls, always carry a pair of 
the Beads in yere pants pockets.” 


Ill 


THE TRICK THE STUDENTS PLAYED ON FATHER BILLY 
ON ST. PATRICK'S DAY AND HOW FATHER BILLY 

TURNED THE TRICK 

The seventeenth day of March was always a 

gala day in the parish of K-. For was not 

Father Billy’s church named after Ireland’s pa¬ 
tron saint? And was not Father Billy, himself, 
Irish to his finger tips? And were not most of 
his large flock of the same persuasion? 

First in order came the Solemn Mass, at which 
the Bishop usually presided, and the panegyric 
of Erin’s apostle, which the worthy pastor took 
care should always be preached by one who was 
able to do ample justice to his subject. And, 
of course, the church celebration invariably ended 
with the grand march: “All hail to St. Patrick, 
who came to our mountains”—which so uplifted 
and exulted the hearers that they sallied forth 
as lightly as if they were treading on air. 

Next came the generous dinner, to which 
Father Billy always invited about as many of 
his clerical cronies as his hospitable board could 
possibly hold. And the conversation during the 
meal proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that 

19 



20 


FATHER BILLY 


the cleverness, and the wit, and the humor, of 
Ireland's sons—or the sons of her sons—had 
not been blasted or blighted by transportation 
to a foreign clime. 

But why do I say “foreign clime”? The truth 
is: America is not a foreign clime to an Irish¬ 
man. He feels every whit as much at home in 
it as he does in his native heath. The minute 
the average Hibernian sets foot on Ameriky’s 
shores, he regards himself as already a natural¬ 
ized, full-fledged citizen of his adopted land, and 
it isn’t long before he is running some part of 
that land—maybe a policeman’s beat, or a ward, 
or a city, or a State—always with the ambition 
of eventually running the United States. 

Even Father Billy, himself, used to laugh 
heartily at the ease and naturalness with which 
his compatriots took hold of their new domicile. 
“Isn’t it great,” he would say, “to hear Jimmy 
Blake, who’s scarcely had time to wash the green 
olf his face, talk of min who’ve been here 

for years, as ‘thim wops’ or ‘thirn d- fur- 

riners.’ ” 

On this day, Rosie was always at her best. 
The greater the number of guests, the more 
broadly her broad countenance beamed. It 
meant work and worry, but she didn’t begrudge 
it. Here, there, and everywhere, superintending, 
giving orders, or taking a hand to show them 




THE STUDENTS’ TRICK 


21 


liow. And she considered herself fully rewarded 
when the diners left nothing but empty plates, 
and when they dropped in afterwards to thank 
her, and to compliment her on her expert culinary 
generalship. Which caused Father Billy to ob¬ 
serve that it’s wonderful how far a little kind 
word of appreciation will go with those who 
cater to our wants. “I don’t know,” he’d add, 
“but this is a pretty good key for the solution 
of the servant problem.” 

On the particular Patrick’s Day of which I 
write, there were many of the university students 
present at the church services, Protestants as 
well as Catholics. For Father Billy was popular 
with all classes and creeds. It is scarcely an 
exaggeration to say that he was the best liked 
man in the town. The public officials, business 
men, bankers and merchants, and university 
dons, all tipped their hats to him when they 
met, or stopped to have a word with him. And 
it was noticeable that they always left him with 
their faces wreathed in smiles. The children 
were so free with him that they seemed to think 
him a hobby horse, climbing up on him, and 
clinging to his coat-tails, till he had serious diffi¬ 
culty in reaching his destination. 

The students, too, were very fond of him for 
his kindness of heart, his wit and geniality, and 
they often went to his sermons, drawn chiefly 


22 


FATHER BILLY 


by bis quaintness and originality, bis sui generis 
way of putting things. Probably many of them 
found, not only entertainment, but spiritual 
profit, also, in these eminently practical dis¬ 
courses. 

You will readily understand from what I have 
just said, that the trick which these youngsters 
played on the good old man didn’t spring from 
malice. It was all pure, good-natured, boyish 
fun, and the worst that can be said of it is that 
it was the result of thoughtlessness. 

At all events, some one of them suggested that 
it would be fine sport to give the church doors 
a coat of green paint that night, in honor of St. 
Patrick, and go to High Mass the following Sun¬ 
day to hear what Father Billy would have to say 
about it. 

So, lo and behold ye, that same night, when 
all was quiet, and the streets deserted, they 
brought their can of paint and their brushes, 
and proceeded to work. But, whether by de¬ 
sign, or from fear of detection, or because there 
wasn’t paint enough, they left the job unfinished 
—doing only one door in green, and leaving the 
other to its original color. 

As planned, they attended the High Mass on 
the Sunday following, to hear the Pater’s opinion 
of themselves and their operation. But, if they 
expected to get a thorough lambasting, or to en- 


THE STUDENTS’ TRICK 


23 


joy the unusual spectacle of beholding Father 
Billy in the tantrums, or of hearing him rant 
and rave at their lack of respect and reverence, 
they got left—and badly. 

After making the announcements, and before 
beginning the sermon, the genial old pastor let 
his eyes rove around the congregation slowly, 
till they rested finally on the students at the 
back of the church. Then, with a humorous 
twinkle in those eyes of his, he thus addressed 
them: 

“Some of the good university boys, wanting 
to do us a kind turn, last St. Pathrick’s night, 
painted wan of our church doors green, the 
brightest and loveliest of all the colors God ever 
made, and the wan that I like best. I don’t know 
why they painted only the wan. Maybe the poor 
boys didn’t have money enough to buy anny more 
paint. Or, maybe they feared some wan would 
see them, and were too modest to let the left 
hand know what the right wan was doing. 
Annyhow I’m sorry they weren’t able to make a 
complate job of it while they were about it. But 
I thank them warmly for their good intintions.” 

The upshot of it all was that the youngsters 
took up a collection and had the whole church 
painted properly. 


IV 


FATHER BILLYHS HANDY-ANDY SEXTON 

Once upon a time, in the kindness of his heart, 
Father Billy engaged as sexton Ned Flynn, a lad 
whom he knew to be — well, not over-bright. 
But what he didn’t know, was the amazing depth 
and density of Ned’s lack of brightness; or the 
horrible trials and worries that were in store 
for himself, as a result of his kindly act. 

Ned’s sister, a nun in a distant convent, was 
a protege of Father Billy. She was considerably 
worried about the half-witted brother’s present 
and future, and so expressed herself to her 
benevolent patron. So, as much to soothe her 
as from charity to Ned himself, he decided to 
give the poor fellow a chance to make good. 

On Ned’s first morning in his new position, 
the good pastor went into the church with him, 
to show him how to manage the Angelus bell. 
It was a dark winter morning, and as there were 
no electric lights, or push-buttons in those days, 
Father Billy lighted a candle in the sacristy, and, 
followed by Ned, proceeded to the bell-tower, 
where he initiated the novice in the art of bell- 
ringing. 


24 


THE HANDY-ANDY SEXTON 


25 


At noon, when the Angelus was to be rung 
for the second time, Father Billy sat in the rear 
of the church, to see that things were done prop¬ 
erly? when, lo and behold ye, though the sun 
was shining brightly, lighting up every nook and 
cranny, out comes Mr. Ned from the sacristy, 
lighted candle in hand, and headed for the tower. 

“In the name of the 
seven churches/’ asks 
the bewildered pastor, 

“what do you want 
with a lighted candle 
in broad daylight?” 

“Isn't that what ye 
tould me to do?” quer¬ 
ies the equally bewil¬ 
dered Ned. 

For Ned’s first les¬ 
son in church-clean¬ 
ing, Father Billy him¬ 
self took broom in . “What do yoii want with a 
1 ^ lighted candle in broad day- 

handy and swept the light?” 
three aisles, leaving the dirt in little piles at 
the end of each aisle. Thinking that sufficient 
instruction, he went his way. The following 
Sunday morning, just before Mass, one of the 
sanctuary ladies came post-haste into the rectory, 
and told Rosie, who told Billy, that there were 
mountains of dirt in the rear of the church. 




26 


FATHER BILLY 


Father Billy immediately summoned his pro¬ 
voking “Handy-Andy,” and burst forth: “Be 
the ghost of the great Finn McCool, wliat’s come 
over ye at all, man alive? Wasn’t it betther to 
lave the dirt where it was than to put it on ex¬ 
hibition to the whole congregation?” 

“And sure, isn’t it just what yer reverence 
itself tould me to do last Choosday mornin’?” 

Being on a visit to Father Billy one day, I 
asked him to send Ned out for some cigarettes 
for me. As I was about to hand the messenger 
a dollar bill, the pastor stopped me. “How much 
will the cigarettes cost?” he inquired. “Fifteen 
or twenty cents,” I replied. 

“Give him a nickel, if ye have it about ye,” ad¬ 
vised Billy. “He’ll bring them to ye just the 
same. I don’t know how he does it, but whin 
I sind him for tobacky or cigars, he always 
gets them, big money, or little money, or no 
money at all, and no questions ever asked. And 
he never brings back anny change, no matther 
how much ye give him.” 

I gave Ned the nickel and he brought back 
the cigarettes. 

On one of my subsequent visits, I found out 
that Father Billy had later on received an enor¬ 
mous bill from his tobacconist. Which seemed, 
to prove that whatever Ned got, he considered 
his own perquisite, and had the articles charged. 


THE HANDY-ANDY SEXTON 27 

Which seems to prove likewise, that Mr. Ned 
wasn’t such a nondescript fool after all. 

But the crowning act of genius in Ned’s career 
as sexton, and the one that put a sudden end to 
that career, happened on the occasion of a house 
wedding in very high society. 

Father Billy was aware that there would be 
lots of wealthy, high-toned Protestants at this 
marriage, and he determined to show his own 
respectability, not that he cared for himself per¬ 
sonally, but for the fair name of the great church 
which he represented. He had a motor car at 
this time, and, though it was far from being a 
Rolls-Royce, he made up his mind to have it 
clean and shining at any rate, so that no one 
could justly look on it with contempt. 

So he asked Ned if he could clean it up for 
him. And Ned swore he could “make it shine 
enough to satisfy the best gintleman in the 
land.” 

I went with Billy that day, and I can testify 
that, so far as the eye could see, Ned had made 
good his boast. And so thought Father Billy. 
“At last,” said he, “we’ve hit on something the 
omadhaun can do right.” It was certainly a 
beauty. Never did car shine more brightly. 
And, as Billy and myself rolled along the dusty 
roads, we were puffed up with unholy pride at 
the grandeur of our conveyance. 


28 


FATHER BILLY 


When we reached the house we were bound 
for, Billy was first to step out of the car, and, 
when I saw his face, and heard the words that 
fell from his lips, I thought he had gone insane, 
or was stricken with apoplexy, and about to 
drop dead on the spot. 

“Holy Mother of God!” he exclaimed, “will 
ye look at that!” 

I got out hurriedly and looked, and the sight 
that met my eye I shall never forget till my 
dying day, if I live to be as old as Methusalem. 

The car was stuccoed, from top to bottom, from 
end to end, with dust and dirt enough to cover 
the Flat-Iron Building! 

Ned had shined the poor old thing with vase¬ 
line, and hadn’t even given it time enough to 
dry! 

“Ned Flynn,” said Billy, when the unsus¬ 
pecting culprit appeared before him, “I’m sorry, 
but the two of us’ll have to part company. I’ll 
give ye enough to tide ye over till ye get work, 
and I’ll do what I can for ye, in anny other way, 
but if we stick together anny longer, ye’ll ruin me^ 
sowl and body. I’ll write to Sister Felicitas, 
and tell her ye can’t do the work.” 

“Och, yer reverence,” pleaded Ned, “Plaze 
don’t let her know I haven’t sinse enough for 
the job. Tell her I was dhrunk, and ye couldn’t 
stand me anny longer.” 


HOW FATHER BILLY TREATED HIS ASSISTANTS 

Father Billy’s kindness and considerateness 
was not confined to his help. It extended even 
to his assistants. He was as free from petty 
jealousy as he was from pomposity. It was not 
his way to keep his young helpers in the back¬ 
ground, so that he himself might shine with 
greater brilliancy. He never appeared to realize 
the infinite distance that separates the pastor 
from the assistant. No matter how great the 
difference in years between himself and his co¬ 
adjutors, to him a priest was always a priest, 
so long as he conducted himself like one. 

And he saw to it that the parishioners should 
view the situation just as he did. If one of his 
staff was clearly in the wrong, he would talk 
to him privately and paternally, but, in public, 
he always upheld his men. If there were ever 
serious disagreements among them, they never 
got outside the rectory. Certainly the people of 
St. Patrick’s, in R-, never knew of them. 

He seemed to consider himself personally re¬ 
sponsible for the comfort of his household, as 
though he were the father and they his children. 
Whatever he had, the others must have, too; even 

29 



30 


FATHER BILLY 


I 


• J 


though, in consideration of his long years of 
service, he was reasonably entitled to more. No 
wonder the young men were glad to come to him, 

and sorry to leave him. 

***** 

Two sorts of assistants, however, he could 
abide only with a very strong effort: the effem¬ 
inate and the conceited. This feeling was not 
due to any personal repugnance, for his charity 
was wide and broad enough to embrace even the 
human dolls and the enlarged craniums. But he 
believed that these two pernicious traits greatly 
hindered and hampered the work for which the 
priest is ordained. “The ladies’ darlings, and the 
band-box priest, and the big-heads,” said he, “are 
so fond of foolish popularity and applause that 
they will risk the raly important things to get 
them.” 

Once he had the misfortune to get one of those 
“big-heads,” as he styled them, a thoroughly 
self-centered, unappreciative fellow—and it re¬ 
quired all his native kindness and self-control to 
keep Billy from breaking loose. Even as it was, 
he couldn’t help indulging in a little mild sar¬ 
casm now and then. 

As I was calling on the old man one day, I 
asked him how his consequential lieutenant was 
getting on. “I hear he’s a great pracher?” said 
Billy, interrogatively. 


FATHER BILLY AND ASSISTANTS 31 

“I'm sure I don’t know,” replied I; “I never 
heard him. But you certainly ought to know; 
you hear him often enough.” 

“Well, he tells me he is,” murmured Billy, 
and continued: “I hear Father Dougherty (the 
pastor of St. John's) and himself are good 
frinds?” again with an interrogation point. 

“I believe they are,” I answered. 

“Well, if they want to remain frinds, they’d 
betther keep apart,” was his final comment. 

Some time after, the highly important Father 
W. was changed, and Father O’Brien sent in his 
place. At the Retreat following, I asked Billy 
how he liked his new assistant. 

“Very well, indeed,” he answered. 

“Is he as good as Father W?” I asked, ma¬ 
liciously. 

“Father O’Brien is a gintleman,” he retorted. 

* * * * * 

Several of us were dining with Father Billy, 
and the discussion turned on the probable ap¬ 
pointee to a pastorship which had recently be¬ 
come vacant. “I wonder why it is,” remarked 
Father Blake, “that Corcoran doesn’t get a 
parish. He’s a good man, and clever, and he’s 
been out a good long time.” 

“I can’t say,” said Billy. “It’s a rather tick¬ 
lish question to put to a man. Mebbe Corcoran 


32 


FATHER BILLY 


doesn’t want a parish. At anny rate, he doesn’t 
seem to worry over it. And I don’t know, afther 
all, but he’s as well off. He’s sure of a home and 
a job as long as he behaves himself, and he’s 
likely enough to do that. 

“The most miserable min are the wans who 
are always looking and schaming for places, 
waiting impatiently to step into dead min’s shoes. 
Corcoran seems contint to go where he’s sint, and 
do what he's told; and he has none of the cares 
and worries and responsibilities of the pastor. 
He's lived with some awful cranks in his time; 
but I believe, in the long run, they always fared 
worse than himself. So perhaps it’s his own 
wish to be the perinnial assistant.” 

***** 

Despite all his years in America, and his long- 
continued contact with all sorts of people, Father 
Billy never did grow familiar with American 
slang. Shortly after he came to St. Patrick’s, 
Father O’Brien got a sick call on a Saturday 
evening, just before supper. When he returned, 
he seemed all flustered; and Billy asked what 
was the matter. 

“What kind of people have you around here, 
anyhow?” queried the young man indignantly. 

“Why, what’s the throuble with thim, boy?” 
inquired the pastor. “As far as I know, you 


FATHER BILLY AND ASSISTANTS 33 


couldn’t find betther between this and the Pacific 
Ocean.” 

“When I was coming back from the sick call,” 
said O’Brien, “some lassies, on their way home 
from work, grinned at me and breezily accosted 
me with an ‘Ah there, my size !’ ” 

“They did, did they?” (from Father Billy) 
“Never mind, boy, I’ll attind to that.” 

Nothing more was said that night anent the 
encounter. The next morning Father O’Brien 
sang the High Mass and Father Billy did the 
preaching. After the reading of the announce¬ 
ments and the Gospel of the day, Father Billy, 
with a face of unusual solemnity, and a tone of 
unusual indignation, thus addressed his hearers: 

“Me dear people, before I prache the word of 
God to ye this morning I have something else to 
say. The Bishop likes us, and he generally sinds 
us good assistants. And that boy over there, 
who’s singing the Mass for ye today, is as good 
a wan as we’ve had yet. Yestherday evening 
he had a sick call, which ye all know is nothing 
out of the usual, in this parish, and, as he was 
coming home, afther doing the work of God, a 
shameful thing happened, which is a most un¬ 
usual thing in this parish. 

“What was it but an impudent hussy walks 
up to the boy, puts her hand up to her bonnet, 


34 


FATHER BILLY 


and throws into his face the brazen words: 
‘Hello, there, as big as me.’ ” 

Naturally, the younger element, and most of 
the older, too, tittered audibly, in fact, some 
laughed outright, at which Father Billy waxed 
more and more indignant. The idea of his own 
people taking such a serious matter as a joke! 
Getting redder of face, and thumping the pulpit 
till he shook the announcement and Gospel books 
down into the aisle, he thundered forth: 

“Shame to ye! Shame to ye! I never thought 
I’d live to see the day that me own people would 
laugh at such sacrilege. The young man to be 
doing the work of God and to have a bowld 
woman say to him: ‘Hello, there, as big as me.’ ” 
At which handkerchiefs were stuffed into 
mouths, and much suffering undergone, to pre¬ 
vent a repetition of the tittering. 


VI 


FATHER BILLYHS DREAM ABOUT THE 
GRAND MONSIGNOR 

“Billy/” said Father Tom Fahey, as we were 
haying our after-dinner smoke, “isn’t it high 
time you were made monsignor ?” 

“I have no great wish for it,” replied Billy, 
“it costs me no loss of sleep or appetite. Though 
I suppose if it w r ere offered to me, I’d jump at 
it just like the rest of them. I don’t know. Some 
of the min I’ve heard, poke the most fun at it 
whin others got it and became the most serious 
about it when the chance came to themselves. 
They always remind me of the Bishop who was 
asked why he didn’t give the purple to more min 
in his diocese whin it was so aisy to get. His 
answ r er was: ‘Because every time I give one man 
the purple I give a dozen others the blues.’ 

“You remimber the jokes Flannery used to 
make about the monsignors. He called them a 
cross between the bishop and the priest. You 
know what kind of an animal he meant. Whin 
wan of his parishioners asked him what was a 
monsignor, he answered, having in mind Wall- 
kirk, the aristocrat: ‘He’s generally a man of 

35 


36 


FATHER BILLY 


good family and small brains.’ Every one that 
knew him thought whin it was offered to him 
he’d refuse it. But did he? I never saw a child 
reach out for jam, or a duck take to wather, more 
naturally than Flannery took to the purple coat 
and skirt. And woe betide the man who cracks 
a joke on it in his presence now. So I’ve about 
come to the conclusion that it’s mostly a case 
of sour grapes with the bulk of those who make 
light of it.” 

# * * *■ * 


There was one very grand, exclusive monsignor 

in the diocese of B-. His name was Wallkirk. 

He was very great and very exclusive, not be¬ 
cause he was a Domestic Prelate, but because 
he was descended from one of the first families 
of the State. And to tell the truth, that’s about 
all there was to him. He had a poor grade of 
intelligence for one in his position; made a piti¬ 
able preacher; was without any personal mag¬ 
netism to speak of. 

None could or would deny that he was a 
thoroughly good priest, so far as the routine 
duties of his calling went; but it isn’t at all likely 
that he would have risen very high in any other 
walk of life. So the good man was scarcely to 
blame for hugging to his heart his ancestry and 
his aristocratic connections. Had he been a 



THE GRAND MONSIGNOR 


37 


genial and friendly sort, his colleagues would 
not only have forgiven him his descent, but might 
even have liked him all the more on that account. 
As it was, what with his supercilious airs and 
his social taboos on all who were not such great 
gentlemen as himself, he succeeded only in mak¬ 
ing himself an object of amused contempt, and 
the butt of many jokes. 

After one of our quarterly conferences, Billy 
related the following dream to a group of his 
old cronies: 

“Three or four nights past, I dhramed that 
poor ould Wallkirk died and wint to heaven; 
at laste he got as far as the gates. And there 
he met St. Pether standing just outside with the 
bunch of kays in his right hand. Without say¬ 
ing a word, the guardian of the gate looked 
him over from top to bottom, as if he had never 
seen him or heard of him before. 

“Wallkirk seemed to be greatly flabbergasted 
at this cool reception, for he thought that every 
wan in heaven knew him, St. Pether most of all. 
And he thought, too, that all of thim would be 
highly plazed to welcome such a grand gintleman 
into their midst. 

“But as St. Pether kept on staring, and saying 
nothing, the monsignor saw at last that it was 
up to him to inthroduce himself. So he ups and 
tells his name and title, with a stiffening 


38 


FATHER BILLY 


of the frame, feeling confident that his announce¬ 
ment would dhraw a bow and a warm hand-clasp 
from the custodian. 

“But instead of giving him at wance the warm 
welcome he expected, Pether began very coolly 
to question him anint who he was and what he 
had done to deserve an eternal reward; just the 
same as he would have done with poor plebeians 
like you and me. 

“Whin he had dhrawn him out sufficiently he 
says to him: ‘Oh, yes, now I remember your 
riverence. You’re the wan they used to call the 
grand gintleman down below. Well, me good 
man, I’m afeared you wouldn’t feel at 
all at home here. The company isn’t, by anny 
manes, suited to you. You’ve been used to hob¬ 
nobbing only with royalty and aristocracy, or, at 
laste, only with great ladies and gintlemen. And 
there aren’t manny of that sort here. 

“I wasn’t considhered a gintleman meself in 
me day. And nayther were John and James, 
or Simon and Jude, or Philip or Bartholomew; 
none of the twelve in fact. And not manny of the 
martyrs and confessors, or the fathers and doc- 
thors who came after us. I don’t suppose ye’d 
care much about chumming with Paul, who was 
only a poor tint-maker? 

“ ‘And to tell ye the truth, the Masther Him¬ 
self wasn’t anny too much of a gintleman, if 


THE GRAND MONSIGNOR 


39 


we are to belave the min of His day who set 
themselves up for gintlemin, and who ought to 
know. He spint most of his time with us ig¬ 
norant fishermin, and contimptible tax-gatherers, 
and Mary Magdalen, and all that sort. He didn’t 
seem to take kindly at all to the grand ladies 
and gintlemin, ayther of Rome or Judea. 

“ ‘Thrue, ye’ll find some of yere own kind here, 
but most of them are of the class that would 
never pass for great society people, if they wint 
back to airth again. 

“ ‘Now way down below there, at th’ other 
exthrame, ye’d mate plenty of yere own kind. I 
don’t mind telling ye, in confidence, that the 
larger percintage of the grand ladies and gintle¬ 
min have quarthers there, kings and queens and 
princes and princesses galore. And dukes and 
duchesses, and counts and countesses, mimbers 
of first families, sporting min and gay and beauti¬ 
ful women, scientists, poets and musicians, play 
actors and actresses, and bon vivants and novel¬ 
ists. Och, ’tis a most wondherful assimblv for 
a man of yere tastes. What do ye say to it? If 
ye want, I’ll give ye a peep at thim.’ 

“And thin, for the first time since I’ve known 
him, I saw poor Wallkirk go all to pieces. He 
was no longer the great gintleman or the grand 
monsignor, but a miserable, sobbing, blubbering 
old man. The tears sthramed down his cheeks, 


40 


FATHER BILLY 


and he thrimbled like a lafe. 

“Whin he was able to talk at all, he said to 
Pether, in the most pitiful tone: ‘Oh, blessed 
Pether, prince of the apostles and first leftenant 
of the Master, I never saw it that way before. 
I see now, as clear as the noon-day, the error of 
me ways. Forgive me and ask God to forgive 
me, and don’t cast me off entirely!’ 

“Thin Pether, who was only tazing him all 
along, said to him: “Av coorse, if ye raly want 
to inther, I can’t prevint ye. Ye’ve a perfect 
right to come in, if ye choose. There’s nothing 
black enough agin ye to keep ye out. I only 
thought ye’d prefer to go below where ye’d have 
all that fine company. Come along and make 
yereself at home. I’ll inthroduce ye to the 
society.’ 

“With that, Pether unlocked the gate and, 
taking Wallkirk be the hand, led him into the 
heavenly courts. There was a broad grin on 
Pether’s face; and just inside the gate he winked 
knowingly at two of the angels, who were waiting 
to get out with a message they were carrying 
to the Bishop of B- 



FATHER BILLY AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 


As I said before, Billy got Ms Levitical train¬ 
ing, or the major part of it, at All Hallows. 
But as he was rather green on his arrival in 
America, the Bishop deemed it advisable to send 

him, for a time, to the Seminary of St. B-, in 

M-, to receive the finishing touches. 

This famous school is conducted by those peer¬ 
less trainers of priestly aspirants, the good 

Fathers of St. K-. And the fact that Billy 

loved this seminary and its staff of professors, 
was fully attested by his conduct, not only during 
his short stay there as a student, but throughout 
all the remaining years of his long life. 

He said frequently that one of the really great 
regrets of his life was that he didn’t have the 
opportunity to make his whole course there. His 
reasons for this were chiefly two—the quality 
of the training which the seminary gave, and its 
cosmopolitan character. 

In Billy’s time, young candidates flocked 
thither from all parts of the country, north, 
south, east and west. There was always, too, a 
goodly sprinkling of foreigners—French, Italian, 

41 





42 


FATHER BILLY 


Polish, German—and even Irish! Nor has it 
yet lost its cosmopolitan make-up, in spite 
of the multiplication of diocesan seminaries 
throughout the land. And its numbers are 
greater today than ever before in its history. 

This gathering and association of the clans 
from all quarters of the earth was, as Billy often 
observed, an education in itself. The diocesan 
seminary, he claimed, has a tendency to make 
men narrow, insular, one-sided; while, on the 
contrary, the cosmopolitan school inevitably 
broadens one, enlarges his views and ideas. We 
can’t very well rub shoulders day by day with 
men coming from all parts of the country, or 
the world, without at the same time rubbing 
off a great deal of our ignorance and prejudice. 

We are made to see the good and the bad in 
people of various climes and communities; to 
realize clearly the common human nature that’s 
in all of us. We grow less dogmatic, more 
tolerant, after seeing and hearing the other side. 
We are helped to slough off the provincialism, 
the limited, circumscribed vision, which is apt to 
obtain in institutions patronized solely by people 
of the same locality—the narrow, Gopher Prairie 
attitude toward the rest of the world. 

Billy’s love for his alma mater (for so he al¬ 
ways spoke of St. B-’s) did not confine it¬ 

self to words, or to long distance expressions of 



AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 43 


gratitude. Whenever there was a call for a 
hand-out, he was one of the first and the largest 
contributors. And on his death it was found 
that the seminary was one of his chief benefici¬ 
aries. 

When possible, he attended the annual re¬ 
unions of the alumni, and always stayed as long 
as his duties permitted. It was a delight to us 
youngsters to see the genial, jovial old man 
waddling about, swapping yarns with his fellow 
patriarchs of the auld lang syne; good- 
natured, side-splitting reminiscences of the 
faux-pas of the professors, and the tricks of 
the students. “Do ye remimber,” Billy would 
ask, “the procession that used to pass down 

P-Street on New Year’s day, whin the ‘gbits,’ 

as we called thim, wint to pay their yearly re¬ 
spects to the Bishop? Aye, it was a sight for 

angels and min. Good ould Father X-, God 

be good to him, looking like he had dhropped 
from another planet, and wearing the ancient 
tile that we used to say once belonged to the 
founder of his order.” 

“And dear Father Y-,” Father Mike 

Downey would chime in, “with the jokes D. L. 

would put up on him. Father Y- was fond 

of the jokes, but he could never see the point 
of one for an hour or two after he heard it. He 
used to study and puzzle over it, as he’d study 






44 


FATHER BILLY 


t 


his Summa Theologica. And when he found it, 
it’s himself would make up for lost time. 

“One evening during recreation three of us 
were walking with him out on the grounds, and 
he was giving us an interesting discourse on the 
force of habit. D. L. waited his chance to get 
a word in, and when he got it, he said: ‘That 
reminds me of an old cat we had at home. I 
had a sick sister, and the folks would kill a 
chicken every day to make broth for her. The 
old cat used to stand by waiting for the chicken’s 
head to fall, and would then grab it in her mouth 
and make off with it. 

“ ‘But one day the poor cat was a little too 
previous; and, when she made the usual grab 
for the chicken’s head, her own head was cut 
off instead. Well, do you know the force of habit 
was so strong in that old cat, that even with her 
own head off, she grabbed the chicken’s head 
in her mouth, as usual, when it fell, and ran 
away with it.’ 

“While all the rest laughed fit to split their 

sides, Father C- looked very serious. And 

then the bell rang for the end of the recreation. 

“At night prayers, during the examination of 
conscience, you remember, immediately after the 
presiding officer says: ‘Let us examine our con¬ 
science on the thoughts, words, and deeds we 
have been guilty of today against the law of 



AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 45 


God/ when everything was so dead quiet that 
you could have heard a pin drop, lo and behold 
ye, like a clap of thunder out of a blue sky, there 
rings out a loud, hearty laugh from the man of 
all men you would have least suspected of such 

levity. Good old Father Y- had just found 

the point of the joke! 

“D. L., Gorman, and myself knew, of course, 
what was up; but most of the others thought 
the old soldier had suddenly and unaccountably 
lost his mind. And you may rest assured, for 

the remainder of the night prayers Father Y- 

got far more attention than the Lord got.” 

And Finnerty would tell his favorite yarn of 

“Dr. M- and the wedding garment,” as he 

called it. The doctor was a Frenchman who 
looked like an Irishman, and was often taken for 
one. Besides, his surname had a Gaelic sound 
to the uninitiated, and his given name began 
with a P. And from what I’m about to say, you’ll 
find that, to some ears, even his accent had a 
dash of the Hibernian in it. 

“The summer that Reilly went to Europe, Dr. 

M- took his place in the parish of T-, 

which was mostly an Irish settlement. After 
Reilly had been back some time, one of his 
parishioners from the ould dart casually inquired 
of him why he never had that fine old Irishman 







46 


FATHER BILLY 


out again to give them a talk. “Why, man alive,” 
answered Reilly, “he’s no Irishman, he’s French.” 

His questioner looked him over, with a broad 
grin on his face, and a merry twinkle in his 
eye, and said: “Father Reilly, do ye see annv 
grane in me eye? Sure we all know, from his 
looks and his talk, that he was wan of ourselves. 
And if we never saw him or listened to him, who 
ever heard of a Frinchman with the name of 
Patrick So-and-So?” 

But that’s not getting to the story of the Doc¬ 
tor and the wedding garment. As Finnerty used 
to tell it, the class were studying the Tract on 
Matrimony, and on this particular day, the pro¬ 
fessor was trying to make them see how and why 
the Church frowns on mixed marriages. As an 
illustration, he spoke of the care which the 
Church takes to make the truly Catholic wedding 
as warm and splendid as possible; and, on the 
other hand, the icy coldness, and aloofness, and 
absence of ceremony which characterize the 
mixed marriage, and finished thusly: “When you 
marry a couple that is straight, you wear the 
surplice, stole and cope. When you marry a 
couple that is not straight, you don’t wear any¬ 
thing at all.” 

Among all the lovable professors of St. B-, 

none was more beloved than Father Z-. And 

none, perhaps, had less order or discipline in 




AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 47 


his class. At times it was almost a pande¬ 
monium. And the strange part of it was that he 
seemed utterly unable to get along without the 
disorder. 

From time to time the students would agree 
among themselves to keep perfectly quiet; and, 
at such times, the good Father was completely 
lost, so much so that he found it impossible to 
go on with the class. He would peer about the 
room, in a worried way, as though he feared 
some dire conspiracy was being hatched against 
him. 

When he could control his fears no longer he 
would mutter: “Gentlemen, gentlemen, I do 
not know, there is something, there is something.” 
And with that the lads would relax, and cry out: 
“It’s all right, Father, go ahead.” The hubbub 
would recommence, and the class would go on 
famously. 

***** 


And then the talk would generally turn to 

the college days at old St. H-. Though 

Billy hadn’t been there as a student, he had 
known the place almost as well as if he were 
an alumnus, and he relished the yarns about it 
almost as well too. 

Present and absent, living and dead, were re¬ 
called. How one man, who was considered al- 



48 


FATHER BILLY 


most a minus haibens, and barely managed to 
get through by the skin of his teeth, afterwards 
became a successful pastor, or a famous orator. 
And how another, who gave great promise, both 
in his college and his seminary days, went to 
the wall, or dropped by the wayside. 

“There was Carroll, whom we called the infant 
prodigy in the classics. I asked him some time 
ago, if he kept up his studies. ‘Why should I?’ he 
queried. ‘What good have the classics done me? 
There’s McCarthy, who hardly knew Latin 
enough to translate his theology, and he has one 

of the largest and best parishes in C-. And 

here’s meself, the great scholar (God save the 
mark!), worse off now than I was when I started. 
Much good, indeed, Horace and Sophocles would 
do for me in Hookstown, where they scarcely 
understand English. However, if any of my 
people ever want to write to the Holy Father 
or the Patriarch of Constantinople, I might still 
be able to help them out, in a pinch.’ 

“And take Rogan, who was A No. 1 in com¬ 
position, or Peterson, the elocutionist. We all 
felt sure they would both make their mark, and 
they have done practically nothing. 

“I’m afraid both of them are badly afflicted 
with the hook-worm, or with cui bono , the bane 
of many an able soggarth. 

“Talking of elocution, our trainer in that popu- 



AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 49 

lar branch of our course, Father W-, was 

certainly one of the best priests the Lord ever 
made—and one of the queerest. Such a lovable 
old maiden lady. He was very sensitive about 
the size or formation of his feet. And Murphy, 
the rascal, knowing it, made it a point to stare 
at those feet continually in class. 

“One day, when the good Father must have 
been more than usually nervous, he withdrew 
the feet from Murphy’s view entirely by pulling 
his cassock over them. But the persistent scoun¬ 
drel slowly slouched down in his chair, and acted 
as though he was trying to see under the cassock, 

Whereupon Father W-, almost beside himself, 

said: ‘Murphy, I don’t like your face. I’m afraid 
you’ll have to leave the room.’ And the rest of 
the villains cried out in chorus: ‘That’s right, 
Father, put him out.’ 

“Do ye mind the time the poor man had try¬ 
ing to make Mac elocute when his turn came? 
Well, on one of those turns, bold Mac walks into 
the room, all dressed up in his Sunday best, 
clean-shaven, hair combed, and lugging Webster’s 
Unabridged Dictionary along with him. Good 

Father W- beams with happiness, and says 

he: ‘I’m sure Mac is going to give us something 
worth while today. Now, Mac, come on and 
show them what you can do.’ 

“Mac strides to the big table, where he has 






50 


FATHER BILLY 


• j 


laid the unabridged dictionary; opens it, seems 
to study it for a while, straightens up, and, with 
face long enough to stop an eight-day clock, be¬ 
gins, accompanying his words with most tragic 
gestures: 

The thunder rolled from pole to pole, 

The lightning flashed on high; 

The brindled bull stuck up his tail and ran, 

And so will I. 

“With that he made a dive for his place, and 
I won’t tell you the rest. 

“Does anyone remember the verses Father 

T- wrote about Father S-, who used to 

cut up the cats for the physiology class?” 

“I think I can give them,” replied Jenkins. 
“Let’s see. Yes, here they are:” 

“The man who tortured thee, 

What shall his penance be? 

Let every cat reply to that, 

And fix the penalty. 

‘Oh, let him hither bring/ 

They cried, ‘each fiddle string, 

Each separate gut 
That he has cut 
From any living thing; 

And let him dwell 
With us in hell, 

Till he has learned to sing/ 




AT THE ALUMNI GATHERING 51 


Whereat poor Father Sappy, 
Of souls the most unhappy, 
Began his song; 

But, lo! ere long, 

The cats, to frenzy driven, 
Began to pray, 

‘Take him away, 

And let him learn in heaven/ ” 


VIII 


FATHER BILLYHS FAMOUS TALK TO THE SEMINARIANS 

On one of the venerable pastor’s visits to St. 

B-, the President invited him to give a talk 

to the students. I don’t know whether or not 
it was his first talk of the kind, but I have good 
reason to believe it was. At all events, I am 
fairly certain it was his last. Had the good 
President and his staff been endowed with the 
gift of prophetic vision, Billy would never have 
got even the one chance. He meant well, no 
doubt, poor man! but, in the lingo of Homer, he 
surely “spilled the beans.” 

I was in philosophy at the time, and it was 
in that department the ever-memorable discourse 
was given. To this day, let that famous talk 
be mentioned in the presence of any of those 
who heard it, and it will make them laugh 
heartily, even though they be surrounded by a 
hundred blue devils. The less the worthy pro¬ 
fessors enjoyed it, the more fun we got out of 
it. Our elation and hilarity were in exact pro¬ 
portion to their chagrin and embarrassment. 

Picture the scene to yourselves. Father Billy 
in the seat of authority—the rostrum—the teach- 

52 



THE TALK TO THE SEMINARIANS 53 


ing corps of the philosophy house seated on 
either side of the orator-to-be, and all of them 
facing ourselves. All of us, professors and stu¬ 
dents, expecting the usual encomium on the great 
advantages and excellence of this most noble 
branch of knowledge, and the use it would be 
to us in after-life, and all that good advice com¬ 
ing from a man of real experience, whose greatest 
regret was that he didn’t realize its prime im¬ 
portance in his seminary days—that was what 
we all anticipated. 

When, lo and behold ye (as Seumas Mac- 
Manus would say), Father Billy did exactly the 
reverse of what was expected, threw oil on the 
fire, turned our little world upside down in the 
brief speech which follows: 

“Boys, yere good Superior has axed me to 
spake to ye this evening about philosophy— 
whatever that manes. To tell ye the thruth, I 
never did know much philosophy meself, and, 
what’s more, I never could find much sinse in 
the little I do know. 

“Ye could take me down to that big river there, 
the Potomac, I believe ye call it, and dip a broom 
in a bucket of wather and wash all the philosophy 
out of me while you’d be saying ‘Jack Robinson.’ 

“I notice in that big university over there in 
Washington they’ve all sorts of grand chairs, 
chairs of pollytickle economy, and exe-exe-gesis, 


54 


FATHER BILLY 


and hermen-hermen-neutics, and so on. But I 
see there’s wan chair they haven’t, and it’s the 
only chair I could very well fill meself. And 
that’s the chair to tache ye how to get money 
without giving shcandal.” 

Nor was that an idle boast of Billy’s, for he 
proved his competency in that line on many oc¬ 
casions, one or two of which I shall mention in 
the following chapter. 


IX 


FATHER BILLY AS A MONEY-GETTER AND A 
MONEY-SPENDER 

One time in liis home town a mammoth meet¬ 
ing was being held in the interest of a most de¬ 
serving charity. The mayor and city council, 
bankers and merchants and newspaper men, and 
most of the big guns, and lots of the little ones, 
were there. And, of course, Father Billy, with¬ 
out whose presence the affair would have been 
like “Hamlet” without the Prince of Denmark. 

It was as much as a man’s political or business 
life was worth to stay away from the gathering, 
or to refuse to help in the matter; and, of course, 
all the wise ones knew it. Many grandiloquent 
speeches were made, commending the noble work 
of the institution they were asked to aid, but 
they were all rather slow in getting down to brass 
tacks—in devising ways and means. No one 
seemed to want to take the initiative. And, 
doubtless, few of them wanted to give any more 
than was strictly necssary to satisfy public opin¬ 
ion. 

When Father Billy’s turn came to speak, he 
said: “Well, gintlemin, with all due respect to 

55 


56 


FATHER BILLY 


ye, and the fullest appreciation of yere eloquence, 
I think we’ve heard talk enough. I’m not much 
of a talker meself, but I’m a great believer in 
action, and I’ll start the ball rolling by sub¬ 
scribing five hundhred dollars. 

“Now if a poor man like me can give that 
much, I’m sure all these great, rich min here, 
like the mayor, and the banking min, and Dr. 
Smith and Mr. Jones, etc., will give at least a 
thousand. They surely wouldn’t let a poor pas- 
thor get ahead of them like that.” 

Needless to say, the affair was a grand success. 
Amid much laughter and good cheer, all gave 
liberally. Those who wouldn’t give for God’s 
sake, gave for shame’s sake. 

* * * * * 

Once, and only once, Billy found it necessary 
to pull up some of his people who were very much 
in arrears in their pew rent. So, one fine Sun¬ 
day morning, he gave them a heart-to-heart talk 
on the subject: 

“Me dear people, ye know I’m growing old 
and feeble, and can’t get about as I used to. And 
I fear, since I had to stop making me rounds, 
manny a one has ayther died or left the parish 
unbeknownst to me. 

“Last week I wint over the pew-books to look 
into the matther, and found that quite a number 


AS MONEY-GETTER AND SPENDER 57 


have gone without me knowledge. Pm sure 
they’ve died or left, because they wouldn’t be 
here all that time without paying their just dues; 
and they know that they ought to be at laste 
as particular to pay the Lord for the up-keep of 
His house as they are to pay their baker or their 
butcher. (Most of the backsliders were seated 
there, looking at Father Billy—and he knew it.) 

“Thin again, I’ve been noticing for a long 
time, two fine-looking, stout, substantial ladies 
coming to the eight o’clock Mass. I suppose 
they’re sisters, because they always come together 
and lave together, and they always sit in the same 
pew. Now, going over the books, I see that only 
wan lady is mentioned as having a sate in that 
pew. And it’s been a great puzzle to me ever 
since, how two such stout, solid, substantial 
ladies could occupy only the wan sate.” 

I need not tell you that the back rents were 
paid up in double-quick time. 

***** 

It was during this same campaign against the 
backsliders that I was walking with Father 
Billy when he met one of them. The man tipped 
his hat and spoke, and Billy stopped to have a 
fatherly chat with him about his family affairs. 
And when they were parting, Father Billy re¬ 
marked, as though he had just thought of it: “By 


58 FATHER BILLY 

the way, John, yon haven’t paid your pew rent 

yet.” 

“I fully intend to pay it, Father, next week, 
with the help of God.” 

“I knew you would, John,” observed old Foxy 
Grandpa, “Yere father was always a good pay, 
and I am sure his son wouldn’t do anything to 
disgrace his mimory.” 

* * * # 

But if the good Father always kept his weather 
eye open when the Church’s dues were in ques¬ 
tion, he was notoriously easy where only his own 
were at stake. If he made money freely, he spent 
it generously, and little of it went for himself. 
His private life was plain and simple; his wants 
were few. In the matter of creature comforts, 
his assistants were far better off than himself. 

As before stated, he gave largely to his alma 
mater for the education of seminarians. A 
goodly number of candidates for the priesthood 
were his own proteges, and he paid almost their 
entire expenses from start to finish. Had it de¬ 
pended on himself, no one would have ever known 
of this, or of any other of his numerous charities. 
But such things are bound to leak out some time 
or other. 

In addition to this, there wrnre his many and 
substantial donations to the orphan asylum 


AS MONEY-GETTER AND SPENDER 59 


which came under his jurisdiction, and to private 
individuals and families. No deserving poor per¬ 
son, and seldom even an undeserving one, went 
away empty from his door. 

It was on this last score especially that he and 

Rosie had many a friendly tilt. Many’s the time 

Father Billy had to resort to all kinds of little 

tricks and evasions to get ahead of his good sister 

in these small affairs. For Rosie knew onlv too 

«/ 

well that, while her reverend brother was among 
the shrewdest of the shrewd in purely business 
matters, he was easily enough taken in by stories 
of want or hard luck. And so she watched him 
with the eye of an eagle. 

The good man was instinctively, tempera¬ 
mentally trustful and unsuspicious. He believed 
one was telling the truth till he found him out 
in a lie. But, once fully convinced that a client 
of his was brazenly imposing on him, he could 
be stern and uncompromising enough. 

One of those parasites, coming for his usual 
dole, was informed by Billy that he was through 
with him. “I can’t afford to keep ye in dhrink, 
whin ye ought to be working like an honest man 
for yere living,” said the pastor. 

“Father,” said the man, “I’m desperate, and 
if you don’t help me I’ll blow out my brains on 
your doorstep.” “Not on the steps,” retorted 
Billy, “the maid is just afther scrubbing thim. 


60 


FATHEB BILLY 


Dhrop yere dirt round the corner, plaze.” 

Another of the same sort declared that he had 
nothing to drink for ages. “You’ve been dhrink- 
ing this very day,” accused Billy. And the man 
swore by all that is sacred that it was all a mis¬ 
take. “Why, man alive,” exclaimed the accuser, 
“the smell of it on yere breath is sthrong enough 
to give one a second-hand dhrunk.” 

“Oh, well, if you can smell it on me, of course 
that’s different,” admitted the pan-handler. 

***«•* 

The good pastor’s patience was often severely 
tried by the votaries of Bacchus, but he told me 
once that the most exasperating case of the kind 
he had was that of an old woman. She wasn’t 
an out and out drunkard by any means. She 
had some real ills and a lot that were imaginary, 
and she thought the barleycorn was the proper 
medicine for them all, and, of course, it only 
made them worse, and no doubt she was a sore 
trial to her relatives. But let us give the story 
in Father Billy’s own words. 

“Wan evening, shortly afther supper, an old 
woman told me that Mrs. Jones, of 890 North 
Street, was very ill and wanted to see me, and 
as soon as I got the chance, I wint to the ad- 
dhress she gave me. The young man who came 
to the door seemed surprised to see me. I axed 


AS MONEY-GETTER AND SPENDER 61 

him if there was anny one sick in the house. He 
answered that his grandmother wasn’t so well, 
but he aidn’t think there was annything serious 
the mattker with her. 

“Well, annyhow, he led me upstairs, and there, 
lying in her bed, was what looked entirely like 
the very same woman who had called at the rec¬ 
tory only a half hour ago. 

“Sez I: ‘Aint you the party I was talking to 
but a short while hence?’ 

“ ‘I am that, yer reverence,’ she replied. 

“ Well, why in the name of the golden collar 
that Malachy wore,’ sez I, ‘did ye sind for me, 
whin ye were able to walk the sthreets? Or, 
why didn’t ye tell me what ye wanted when 
ye were at the house? W T hat in the name of 
Brian Boru do ye mane at all, at all?’ 

“ ‘Yer reverence,’ said the ould scalawag, ‘I’ve 
been afther them for the last month to go for 
ye, and sarra the wan of thim I could get to go. 
So, sez I to meself, the only way to bring him is 
to go afther him meself.’ ” 


X 


HOW BILLY GOT EVEN WITH THE DAPPER 
FATHER O^ROURKE 

There was a time—in the days before he grew 
feeble—when Father Billy was a great devotee 
of the bicycle. I may say here that Billy was a 
rather careless dresser, and an inveterate tobacco- 
chewer. And when he went out on the wheel, 
wearing an old sweater and knee breeches, a 
cap that had seen better days, and his quid of 
tobacky in his gob, few who didn’t know him well 
would ever have taken him for a priest. 

One day Father James O’Rourke, the pastor of 
St. Rose’s, whose get-up was just the opposite of 
Billy’s, was in the rectory waiting as Father 
Billy returned from his daily ride. 

In general appearance, the two men were 
enough alike to be taken for twin brothers—all 
except the clothes. And here the contrast was 
startling, O’Rourke looking like he had just come 
from the hands of his valet, and Billy like a 
stevedore after finishing a hard day’s work. 

When Father Billy came into his sitting-room, 
O’Rourke said to him: “For the love of heaven, 

62 



GETTING EVEN WITH O’ROURKE 63 


Billy, why don’t you dress like a gentleman? 
’Pon my soul, you look like a tramp.” 

Billy just chuckled and said not a word. 

Not long after Billy got down from his bike 

one evening just in front of St. Rose’s rectory, 

and sauntered in, 

dressed exactly as he 

«/ 

had been the day 
O’Rourke gave h i m 
the awful call-down. 

Into O’Rourke’s 
neat and well-filled 
library he waddled, 
chuckling most glee¬ 
fully. 

“What are you grin¬ 
ning at, you old roust¬ 
about?” inquired the 
dapper O’Rourke. 

“I have a good wan 
on ye, O’Rourke,” said 
Billy, “such a mighty 
good wan that I 
couldn’t resist the 
timptation to dhrop in 
and tell ye at wance. 

A while ago, I was coming along Cherry Road on 
me wheel, and as I was passing the gates of Mt. St. 
A-’s Convent, with me head down, so that me 



" ’Pon my soul, you look 
like a tramp.” 














64 


FATHER BILLY 


face couldn’t be seen, two of the good nuns were 
just coming out, and as T wint by, I heard wan 
say to the other: ‘There goes Father O’Rourke.’ ” 


XI 


HOSIERS ANNOUNCEMENT 

You may—no doubt, you will —find consider¬ 
able difficulty in believing what I am going to 
tell you. And, in the circumstances, I certainly 
cannot blame you. How are you to know whether 
I am a would-be professional wag, or a conscien¬ 
tious, truth-telling biographer. 

But, no matter how improbable it may appear 
to you, I give you my word as a priest and a 
man, that the statement I am about to make is 
absolute fact, not fiction. It is not mine to ex¬ 
plain it. I have never been able to find the reason 
why Billy’s sister felt called on to make the an¬ 
nouncement. 

The worthy pastor had two assistants and a 
sexton at the time. But it may well have hap¬ 
pened that none of the three was around at the 
crucial moment. The assistants had already said 
their masses, and, perhaps, were bringing holy 
communion to the sick. The sexton had very 
likely gone to his breakfast. 

Be that as it may, it was Rosie—none other— 
who made the famous announcement which is 

65 


66 


FATHER BILLY 


talked of in the parish of St. Patrick to this very 
day. 

Though only a week-day, there was a good- 
sized congregation present, as usual; for Father 
Billy had instilled into his people a love for the 
daily Mass. 


Twenty-five min¬ 
utes of eight and no 
priest yet in sight. 
The congregation 
began to wonder; 
such a happening 
was exceedingly 
rare. Father Billy 
himself was the soul 
of punctuality, and 
always demanded 
the like prompt¬ 
ness from his co¬ 
adjutors. 



“Rosie” 


Fifteen minutes of eight and still no Mass. 
The people were growing restless. When, lo and 
behold ye, out marches Miss Rosie herself from 
the sacristy, wends her way, with becoming dig¬ 
nity and decorum, to the altar railing, clears her 
throat, and announces: “There’ll be no Mass this 
mornin’. Father Willum is sick, and I’m not 
feelin’ so well meself.” 


XII 


THE CONFIRMATION DINNER 

Rosie was at her best, and the compliments 
she received from all—from the Bishop to the 
youngest man present—made her thrill with sat¬ 
isfaction. I’m sure she felt prouder that day 
than did Alexander after one of his greatest con¬ 
quests. 

Father Allard, the Bishop’s secretary, who 
was the preacher of the day, received the cus¬ 
tomary congratulations, and they were by no 
means perfunctory either; he richly deserved all 
he got. What seemed to impress them all par¬ 
ticularly was his manner of reading the Scrip¬ 
tures before the sermon. He had the rather rare 
gift of reading as he talked. If you weren’t look¬ 
ing at him, you’d think he was talking 

“Hum-drum reading is one of our worst 
faults,” said the Bishop. “Most of us don’t pay 
sufficient attention to our reading of the epistles 
and gospels. Many of us read like automatons, 
droningly, funereally, with little or no regard to 
the sense. We often fail to emphasize the right 
words and passages, and even neglect the proper 
pronunciation. 




67 


68 


FATHER BILLY 


“Reading, like preaching, requires real prepa¬ 
ration, and it is certainly well worth while. 
What a pleasure it is to listen to a reader who 
reads as naturally as he talks. And what a bore 
to sit under one who doesn’t bring out the sense.” 

Here Billy was in his element. Assuredly 
there was nothing of the machine-made reader or 
talker about him, he was absolutely direct and 
natural in both lines. So he chimed in: 

“Yes, Bishop, what ye say is only too thrue. 
And there’s intirely too much of the whining and 
the dhrawling in the praching, too. I can’t 
see, for the life of me, why a man don’t prache 
as he talks. Manny of our prachers seem to have 
no sinse at all of balance or proportion. They’ll 
give off everything with the same solimnity, as 
if it were all of aiquil impartance. 

“Some of thim will say: ‘A man wint down 
from Jerusalem to Jericho,’ in the same tone, and 
with the same solimnity as they’d say: ‘Father, 
forgive them, they know not what they do.’ To 
my thinking, the best compliment that can be 
paid to wan of us is to have the people say: ‘He 
don’t prache at all, he just talks.’ 

“And that reminds me,” continued he, “of the 
commint of me ould frind Tickler. Sez he: 
‘Most ministers do dhrawl, or dhrivel, or cant, 
after a very inexcusable fashion. A moderate 
degree of animation would carry almost any 


THE CONFIRMATION DINNER 69 

preacher through half an hour agreeably to an 
audience, yet is it not true, generally speaking, 
that eyelids begin to fall under ten minutes? 
Why is it thus?’ 

“And quaint old Jamie Hogg: ‘What yawns 
have I not seen in kirks! The women, at least 
the young anes, dinna like to open their mouths 
verra wide, for it’s no becoming, and they’re 
feard the lads may be glowering at them, so they 
just pucker up their bit lips, draw in their breath, 
haud down their heads, and put up their hands 
to their chafts to conceal a suppressed gaunt, and 
then straughtenin’ themsells up, pretend to be 
hearkenin’ to the practical conclusions. 

“ ‘My ain opinion is that the mair dourly you 
set yoursell to listen to a no verra bricht dis- 
coorse, as if you had ta’en an oath to devour’t 
frae stoop to roop, the mair certain-sure you are 
o’ fa’in’ ower into a deep, lang sleep.’ ” 

“But what’s the matther with you, Kerrigan?" 
suddenly queried Billy. ‘I never knew ye to be 
so quiet. Haven’t ye a tongue in yere head? 
Or is it that yere dinner isn’t agreeing with ye?” 

“You’ve been blathering so continuously your¬ 
self,” retorted Father Kerrigan, “that you’ve 
scarcely given any one else a chance. You seem to 
have most of them here lost in admiration at 
your wisdom and eloquence. Do you want to 
know what I’ve been thinking about, in connec- 


70 


FATHER BILLY 


tion with you, for the last half hour? It’s this: 
‘I’m Sir Oracle; when I ope my mouth, let no 
dog bark.’ Not, of course, that I’d be comparing 
myself to a dog—alongside of you anyway.” 

“I’m glad they have the good sinse to recog¬ 
nize me own very great wisdom,” said Billy, 
“and now show thim yours, if ye have anny. Fire 
away, Kerrigan.” 

“Well, now that I’ve started, I’ll say this much 
anyhow, whether it’s wise or unwise. I have 
reason to believe that what seems to be indif¬ 
ference or slouchiness, is often really the result 
of diffidence or nervousness. I’ve known men 
who prepared their sermons most conscientiously, 
and yet were completely at sea when they got up 
in the pulpit. 

“Nervousness is a queer thing, and it has so 
many ways of showing itself, and so many 
causes for its existence, that at times it is well 
nigh beyond explanation. Some of it is due to 
an unfortunate start—to some fright which the 
novice gets at his first attempt, and from which 
he never recovers. 

“There was a classmate of my own who got 
stage fright the first time he preached in the 
seminary, and, as a result, appeared indifferent. 
For this he got a terrific verbal trouncing from 
the seminary authorities, and was made to re¬ 
peat. The encore was worse than the original 


THE CONFIRMATION DINNER 71 


performance. The poor fellow almost had the 
life scared out of him, and the preaching has 
been a horrid nightmare for him ever since. 

“To make matters worse, instead of being sent 
to some good pastor who might have helped him 
to get over this, he was assigned to a kind- 
hearted, easy-going old man who pitied him, and 
rarely or never made him preach. The upshot of 
it is that, though he has been ordained nearly 
twenty-five years, he told me not so long ago 
that every time he has to talk he gets the 
delirium tremens, sees nothing before him but a 
sea of heads, and couldn’t recognize a soul in 
the audience if his salvation depended on it. 

“It’s a strange thing. I once had a college 
professor who couldn’t say the Lord’s Prayer by 
himself. We had to help him with it. Then 
he’d rise from his knees, talk by the hour, and 
give you as neat a lambasting as you’d want. 

“And there was Archbishop K-. As you 

all know, he did more in the way of public speak¬ 
ing than perhaps any other cleric in the country. 
Here, there, and everywhere. And in the pulpit 
or the rostrum, he always seemed to be coolness 
personified. That man told me himself, in his 
old age, that he never got up to speak to an 
audience without getting the nervous tremors 
beforehand. 

“While my supply of gas holds out, I’ll give 



72 


FATHER BILLY 


yon one more queer instance. The Provincial 
of the Passionists once told me that Father 

j-one of their ablest preachers, lost the 

thread of his sermon the first time he preached 
in the monastery chapel of Dunkirk. Never 
after, even when he had become famous, and his 
nervousness was but a memory, could he be in¬ 
duced to hold forth in that chapel. He had a 
mortal dread that the recollection of his first 
failure would haunt him throughout and make 
him repeat his first fiasco.” 

"Well, Kerrigan,” remarked Billy with a good- 
natured grin, as his old friend paused to get his 
breath, "it was hard to get ye wound up, but 
harder yet to make ye stop, once ye got started. 
At anny rate I think ye’ve proved yer point very 
well. Ye do talk sinse sometime.” 

"I am glad to see, Father Allard,” said the 
Bishop, "that you have mastered the secret of 
the multum in parvo . It is the best proof of 
careful preparation. The average sermon 
shouldn’t exceed a half hour. If a man prepares 
himself properly, and knows just what he wants 
to say, he ought to be able to say quite enough 
in that time. 

"If he is not prepared, and has that rather 
doubtful gift of the gab, he will flounder about 
aimlessly for an unconscionable time without 
reaching his destination, to the great impatience 



THE CONFIRMATION DINNER 


73 


of his audience. It is nothing short of an im¬ 
position, an injustice to his hearers, to address 
them without preparation. In fact, I might add, 
it is an insult to their intelligence.” 

“Eve listened to manny a long-winded pulpit 
orator in me time,” observed Father Billy, “and 
about the only thing I carried away from most 
of their talks w T as the lettuce. It’s ‘let us do 
this,’ and ‘let us do that,’ and ‘let us do the 
other thing,’ till ye’re so sick and tired that ye 
feel ye have nothing but lettuce on the brain. 

“And just when ye think he has come to a 
fine stopping place at last, and ye begin to perk 
up and dhraw a sigh of relafe, oft he goes again, 
as if he was thrying to prove the possibility of 
perpetual motion. There ought to be a statute of 
limitations against such wind-bags, binding un¬ 
der heavy pinalties.” 

“Good, Father Billy,” said the Bishop, “I agree 
with you heartily, and I’ll see about introducing 
the matter at the next synod. 

“And,” he continued, as they all arose to re¬ 
pair to the smoking room, “I’m glad the subject 
was brought up today. I feel confident that the 
wise and practical directions we have heard 

will not be without their wholesome effect on all 
present, and that your good example will speed¬ 
ily leaven the whole mass.” 


XIII 


FATHER BILLY ON THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 

“O’Brien/' began Father Billy one day to his 
young assistant, “I’ve been thinking for some 
time we’ll have to sind ye to the country for 
a few years. Ye keep so delicate-looking that 
ye have the sympathy of all the women in the 
parish, young and old, and I fear I have their 
contimpt. 

“I believe in me heart and sowl they all glower 
at me when me back is turned, thinking I don’t 
give ye enough to ate and work ye like a pack- 
horse.” 

“Well, I certainly don’t want to lose the sym¬ 
pathy of the ladies, Father Billy,” said the 
curate. “And now that I know the reason for 
it, I shall try harder than ever to steer clear 
of the fatty stage. To tell you the truth, I 
always thought the favor of the fair dames was 
due to my good looks and winning ways. I’ll 
tell them all, however, that you really do give 
me enough to eat.” 

“You young bag of consate,” replied Billy. 
“But I’ll forgive ye this time, so long as ye 
have sinse enough to indorse the sentiments of 

74 


THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 75 


an older and a wiser man like meself.” 

And Billy went on to describe, in glowing 
terms, half jest, half earnest, the advantages of 
country life for a young soggarth. 

“Nonsense,” spoke in Father Doolan, a coun¬ 
try pastor who was present, “you’re only spoof¬ 
ing. You’ve been in the plains yourself in your 
day, and you know well enough that it’s as often 
as not a case of ‘root, hog, or die.’ We haven’t 
quite the fifty-seven varieties that you pampered 
city folks enjoy, day in and day out, and when 
one gets the same old provender from beginning 
to end of the year, he soon grows sick and tired 
of it, no matter how fresh and wholesome it may 
be. 

“Besides, and I suppose you’ve had the same 
to contend with, many and many’s the time I’ve 
had to do my own cooking, and make my own bed, 
and sweep the house, and try to tidy things a 
bit, and then go foraging among my people for 
a bite of something. There are no swell hotels 
for us to go to, such as you have, when the cook 
goes off in a dudgeon.” 

“Right ye are, Doolan,” admitted Billy, “if 
ye’re often in that fix. For meself, I must say 
I never had much of that sort of throuble.” 

“This problem of help,” resumed Doolan, “is 
one of the most annoying things in the country 
pastor’s life, especially in a place like mine where 


76 


FATHER BILLY 


a housekeeper can rarely stand the lonesome- 
uess for more than a month or two. I’ve often 
thought there ought to be an order of deacons 
or deaconesses to look after us. Even when I 
can manage to hold on to a good cook for a 
while, there are serious drawbacks. A man sel¬ 
dom enjoys his meals when he has to take them 
alone. I never spend more than fifteen minutes 
at table when I am by myself. Talk and the 
company of one’s own kind are great appetizers 
and seasoners.” 

“As I said before,” observed Father Billy, 
“I’ve had little throuble with cooks or house¬ 
keepers. Rosie was always with me. I couldn’t 
dhrive her away even if I wanted, and to tell 
ye the thruth, I never did want to. Rosie is 
deacon and deaconess enough for me. 

“And, as for the lonesomeness, I was never 
bothered with that ayther. No wan can be en¬ 
tirely lonesome when the same Rosie’s around. 
And besides I had me books, and me garden, 
and me walks, and me work, and lots of things 
to keep me going and interested in all the time. 

“Raley I’m not joking. I always liked the 
counthry, and I like it yet, and it’s not me own 
fault that I’m not there today instead of here. 
If I had me own way that’s where I’d be now. 

“There was far more in the way of hardships 
and lack of conveniences in my time than there 


THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 77 

is today. Yet I spent manny of me happiest days 
there. I was never healthier in me life. There 
were no automobiles, as you know, and I did 
a lot of walking and horse-back riding, and after 
that I could enjoy fat bacon and eggs more than 
I enjoy pate-de-foie-gras now. 

“And there was no such thing as insomnia, 
I assure ye. Manny’s the time I didn’t stir 
hand or foot afther sthriking the bed till it was 
time to get up in the morning. And, best of 
all, I wasn’t bothered with an assistant, like 
O’Brien there.” 

“Cardinal Newman says somewhere,” re¬ 
marked Father Doolan, “ ‘as time goes on, and 
we measure and sort and number things—as 
we gain views—we advance towards philosophy 
and truth, but we recede from poetry.’ If you 
are as much in earnest as you seem to be, Father 
Billy, you certainly have not ‘receded from 
poetry’ just yet.” 

“After weighing the pros and cons,” said 
Father O’Brien, “I think you make rural life 
so attractive, Father Billy, that you’ve almost 
persuaded me to ask for a country charge. I 
believe I’d do it at once, if I didn’t fear the 
effect on yourself. For in spite of the mean 
remark you just made about me, I know it would 
break your heart to lose me.” 

“Doolan, did ye ever in your born days see 


78 


FATHER BILLY 


wan so full of consate as this youngster of mine?” 
inquired Father Billy. “I believe in me heart 
he thinks himself wan of the indispinsables. 
Whin I was his age, I was almost afeared to 
open me mouth in meeting. But the young sog- 
garths of today have no such fears, no embarrass¬ 
ment anint airing their views in presence of their 
grandfathers in the faith. Aye, and they’ll un- 
dhertake to tache min who read the Suinma 
Theologica before they were born. 

“I’ll take all that back, O’Brien, so far as you 
are concerned. Of course ye know I was but 
joking. Ye’re a good boy, even if I do say it to 
yer face. But get rid at once of the notion 
that it would break me heart to part with ye, 
for I intind to do that very thing before manny 
moons have waxed and waned. 

“Never fear, me boy, to the counthry ye’ll go, 
as soon as I have ye properly thrained. And, 
ye young hypocrite, it won’t be me ye’re sorry 
to lave, but the foolish young damsels and old 
dames of the parish who make such a fuss over 
ye for want of something betther to lavish their 
affections on.” 

“I agree with you, Father Billy,” said Father 
Doolan, with a wink at O’Brien. “Every young 
man should serve his time in the woods, as well 
from a sense of fairness to others who are kept 
there too long, as for the good the experience will 


THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 79 


do himself. But I think the fledgling just out 
of the nest should first be sent for a while to 
a wise man like yourself, to be taught how to 
conduct himself. 

“O’Brien has shown himself a very apt pupil 
of a very capable master, and, as his training is 
about completed, he is now qualified to paddle his 
own canoe. I’m willing to make a sacrifice for 
his good, and give him my place tomorrow.” 

At this point Father Billy addressed Doctor 
Ruppel, president of the local seminary, who 
was laughing heartily at the sallies, but had 
taken no part as yet in the conversation: “How 
did this boy of mine get along in the seminary, 
Ruppel?” 

“I’d rather tell you that privately,” answered 
the Doctor, “for fear of embarrassing the young 
man. For the present, suffice it to say that he 
did well enough. If he hadn’t, it isn’t likely 
that he’d have stayed so long with your reverence. 

“But, as regards yourself, my highly esteemed 
Father Billy, while I’ve been sitting here for the 
last half hour listening to your self-praise, I’ve 
been thinking to myself: ‘Quantum mutatus ah 
illo’ O’Gorman, the ultra-modest youth who sat 

beside me in good old Dr. I-’s class at St. 

B-’s! 

“You’re not far from the truth when you say 
that in those days you’d hardly open your mouth 




80 


FATHER BILLY 


in company. But nobody who knows you would 
be inclined to doubt that you’ve made up for 
lost time since. In fact, you’ve made such a 
convincing plea for your qualifications as a di¬ 
rector of clerical youth, that I’m more than half- 
inclined to surrender my own place to you.” 

“I thank you heartily for your compliment, 
Ruppel,” replied Billy. “Though if I had fore¬ 
seen that you were going to be so dead serious 
about it, I wouldn’t have started in this vein at 
all, at all. However, in gratitude for your sen¬ 
sible appreciation, I here and now relinquish 
all claim to yere professorial chair. As me good 
frind Stein would say: ‘unter uns gesagt,’ I don’t 
think I could fill it with credit annyhow, ayther 
to the seminary or meself. 

“There are some things I could tache you high¬ 
falutin’ dons, but philosophy and theology and 
canon law are not among them. Now if it was 
a question of running a parish, or giving a good 
lambasting, or getting money without giving 
shcandal, I’m sure anny competint jury would 
put me head and shoulders above all of ye.” 

“Agreed,” cried all in chorus. 

“Talking seriously,” said Doctor Ruppel, “I’ve 
always been of the mind that there are a few 
other branches besides those you mentioned that 
might be better taught by men who have spent 
some time on the mission. Take, for example, 


THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 81 


moral and pastoral theology. No matter how 
learned one may be in the principles of morals, 
he may be unable to make a prudent guide if 
he has never had occasion to apply those prin¬ 
ciples to actual cases of conscience in the con¬ 
fessional. 

“I’ve seen this proved time and again. Ask 
advice of one who has all the principles of the 
science at his fingers’ ends, but has spent all 
his days in the professor’s chair, and you’ll often 
find that, in the peculiar circumstances of the 
case, his decision is impracticable. These learned 
men, for the most part, follow a straight line, 
and make no allowance for cross-currents. They 
often fail to take into account the many con¬ 
ditions which make the rigid, undeviating ap¬ 
plication of moral principles practically impos¬ 
sible. I’ve frequently heard priests who were 
by no means presumptuous or hypercritical, say 
that, after listening to the doctors in all humility 
and docility, and with the sincerest desire to 
follow their advice, they were forced to go back 
to their own first conclusions.” 

“The best teacher of morals I ever had,” said 
Doolan, “was assuredly not the most learned 
in his specialty. But he was a man of experience 
in the work of the ministry before becoming a 
professor, and, as a result, his students felt 
that he really knew what he was talking about. 


82 


FATHER BILLY 


It’s the difference between the student who has 
mastered the recognized books on electricity, and 
the practical electrician who has been working 
at the thing for years. 

“Even in physical laws, allowance must always 
be made for the action of resisting or conflicting 
forces, for counter-currents, and the modification 
of law by law. And, a fortiori, the same holds 
true in morals.” 


***** 


“Can you tell me, Ruppel,” asked Billy, “why 
it is that so few of your young priests today 
seem to be at home with the Latin? I don’t 
think I’m merely a laudator temporis acti whin 
I say the min of our day were far more familiar 
with their Church’s vernacular.” 

“I’ve often puzzled over that myself,” replied 
the Doctor. “It’s easy enough to see why the 
Italians and French and Spaniards take to it 
more naturally than we, as the Romance 
languages are so closely allied to the Latin. But 
that doesn’t account for the superior proficiency 
of the Germans and the Irish. I suppose the 
truth is that our men don’t practice enough.” 

“Whose fault is that?” inquired the persistent 
old man. “Why don’t you siminary authorities 
see that they do get practice enough? Do you 


THE JOYS OF COUNTRY LIFE 83 


make tkim recite their philosophy and theology 
in Latin?” 

“That’s more easily said than done,” answered 
the president. “We’ve tried that time and again, 
and it simply won’t work. That’s the long and 
the short of the thing, and no amount of theoriz¬ 
ing will do away with the sad fact. It’s like 
pulling jaw teeth, or trying to draw water from 
a dry well. Most of them will stumble and stut¬ 
ter over the Latin till it tires and sickens the 
teacher and the class alike. 

“If we insisted on it, we wouldn’t get through 
a single lesson in a week. And, after all, the 
matter is more important than the language. If 
we intend to teach them any theology we’ve got 
to dispense with the Latin recitations. The best 
we can do is to have them study the text in 
Latin, and recite in English. 

“And though it’s really too bad it has to be, 
still the system is not without its compensations. 
If they all recited in Latin, it might be hard to 
tell sometimes whether they understood their 
matter. With many of them, it would be mere 
memory work. As it is, they can’t very well 
give a respectable account of their subject in 
English, unless they know what they’re talking 
about. When all’s said and done, it’s in English 
they’ll have to express their ideas anyhow, if 
they’re ever going to make a practical use of their 


84 


FATHER BILLY 


knowledge. So it's six of one and a half dozen 
of the other.” 


***** 

“Do you think, Doctor Ruppel,” asked Father 
O’Brien, “that practice-preaching in the seminary 
is of much real benefit? Or that it is anything 
like a fair test of what a man can do in that 
line?” 

“Yes, I do consider it useful, ” replied the 
Doctor. “While the sermons delivered in the 
seminary are not, as a rule, exactly the sort of 
talks young men will give later—especially in 
moral matters, which require experience—still, 
the research needed, and the criticisms given, 
and the confidence acquired by public speaking, 
can’t fail to be of real benefit. Of course, it’s 
only tyro work, and necessarily crude, but it 
serves its purpose. 

“As to its being a test, I must confess I don’t 
believe it is in many cases. The student’s audi¬ 
ence is not just the sort to inspire any great en¬ 
thusiasm, we all know. It is a rare vouth who 
can summon up the same confidence and earnest¬ 
ness in addressing a body of professors and 
students, as he will have later on when talking 
to a congregation for whom he has especially 
prepared his sermon, and on whom he really 
wants to make an impression. 



THE JOYS OE COUNTRY LIFE 85 


“Then, too, he has the eternal consciousness 
of speaking before an audience entirely com¬ 
posed of critics and scarcely much in sympathy 
with his effort, while, as a priest, he will have 
a sense of mastery. As a matter of fact, I’ve 
known—and I suppose you can all say the same 
—many a student who gave but little promise 
as a preacher in his seminary days, and after¬ 
wards developed into quite a pulpit orator.” 

***** 


“That’s all very instructive,” observed Father 
Doolan, making a wry face, “but I haven’t heard 
anyone making a bid for my country parish yet. 
After Father Billy’s rhapsodies on the beauties 
and joys of rural life, and his assistant’s hearty 
approval, I thought the young man would want 
to change with me at once. I want to tell him 
now that I’m not the sort to stand in any man’s 
light, and the option of Carville parish is his 
whenever he wishes to take advantage of it.” 


XIV 


FATHER O'BRIEN GOES TO THE COUNTRY 

Not so many moons after the conversation 
mentioned in the last chapter, Father O’Brien 
did go to the “woods,” as Father Doolan termed 
it. And, whether you believe it or not, Father 
Billy had absolutely nothing to do with the 
change. There wasn’t a sadder soul in St. 
Patrick’s than the same Father Billy when 
the time came to part. 

The day the announcement came, there were 
just the two—Fathers Billy and O’Brien—for 
dinner; it was Father Kelly’s day off. So the 
good old man had a chance for a heart-to- 
heart talk with the newly-made pastor. “Get 
a hobby, me boy,” he advised him. “Get a hobby 
and ride it. And if ye grow tired of it, get 
another. Without wan, counthry life, for manny 
a priest, is a Purgatory on earth. Ye’ll often 
find yereself very poor company. Stick to yere 
books if ye can. I know the average man doesn’t 
feel much like kaping up a systematic coorse 
of study unless he has some immadiate and 
definite use to make of it. Knowledge for its 

86 



O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


87 


own sake is a grand idea, but it doesn’t appeal 
to the rank and file. 

“The priest in a large city parish, as ye know, 
has so much to do in the way of praching and 
instructing that he is forced to read and study 
unless he’s willing to be regarded as an omad- 
haun. But in the country, manny a wan thinks 
that anny old thing will do. I don’t say this 
is the right view, for it isn’t. The truth is 
that, in a good manny country parishes, ye have 
a more intelligent audience than ye have in the 
cities; college and university-bred men and 
women. 

“And even if vere people are not bright lights, 
a man with the proper zeal can find use for 
the broadest reading and study. Ivape up yere 
studies for yere own sake as well as for the 
people’s. And ye can be sure ye will never 
have rayson to regret it. It will prove a life- 
saver for ye, and will be of great use in yere 
work hereafter. l r e won’t be long in the coun¬ 
try. At anny rate, ye won’t spind the rest of 
vere life there. 

“Go among yere people, and, if there is need 
for it, thry to improve their timporal as well 
as their spiritual lot. One of the great advan¬ 
tages of the counthry pastor has over the city 
man is that he knows all his parishioners in¬ 
timately, and can dale with them, not as if 


88 


FATHER BILLY 


lie was a wholesaler, but like a good doctor who 
knows the peculiar needs of aich and every wan.” 

***** 

As often as he could spare the time, Father 
Billy took a run up to Hampstead, Father 
O’Brien’s new parish, and, of course, he was one 
of the honored guests on the occasion of the 
first Confirmation held under the new regime. 

“Well, Misther O’Brien,” said Billy, “now that 
the tables are turned, and ye the host and I 
your guest, I suppose ye feel like the cock-of- 
the walk, and ye’re glad of the chance to crow 
over yere old pastor.” 

“I’ll confess I sometimes have the temptation,” 
responded O’Brien, “but I’m afraid to yield to it. 
Who knows but I may be sent back to you some 
day, and then you’d pay me back with compound 
interest. You see I wasn’t with you so long 
without acquiring a little caution and foresight.” 

“I’m thinking the Bishop would lose yere 
favor if he sint ye annywhere away from here. 
Ye seem to be in clover, as the saying is. An 
inthrancing place, and no wan to boss ye ex¬ 
cept mebbe yere cook; and yere C. Dan car to 
carry ye like a gintleman wherever ye want to 
go.” 

“What a difference between this trip and the 
first one I made to Hampstead fifteen years 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


89 


ago,” remarked the Bisliop. “In those days the 
roads were worse than the ‘rocky roads to Dub¬ 
lin’—rough and crooked, full of ruts and mud- 
holes. And the conveyance was not much bet¬ 
ter. 

“I don’t know whether it was due to poverty, 
or a wish to convey the impression of poverty, 
but Father Pat Donaghy, who was here at the 
time, had one of the most rickety old traps 
imaginable, and one of the most rickety old 
nags you ever laid your eyes on to draw it. I 
believe he hired both trap and nag for the oc¬ 
casion, to punish me for sending him here. When 
I awoke next morning I thought I had lumbago, 
but after managing to slide out of bed and take 
a few turns round the room, I realized that my 
aches had been caused by Donaghy’s express. 

“But now, with your fine State roads and your 
fast motor-cars, you countrymen are living in 
clover, as Father Billy says. I’m thinking ser¬ 
iously of making country charges a reward for 
good conduct and conspicuous zeal in the 
ministry. I sometimes fear I’m favoring you 
too much by leaving you in this earthly paradise. 
You have everything so spick and span and com¬ 
fortable here that I'm afraid you’ll become too 
much attached to it, to the detriment of your 
soul. 

“Now Father Cahalan here has been inhaling 


90 


FATHER BILLY 


the city dust so long and breathing the foul 
air of the slums, that he richly deserves a respite, 
and I can’t think of a better place for him than to 
give him your parish for a while.” 

“Always at your service, Bishop,” answered 
Father Cahalan. “You know I’ve never bothered 
you much one way or other in the matter of 
appointments. My motto is ‘semper paratus,’ 
ready any time to get up and go. I haven’t much 
to move, and there would be little use in my hang¬ 
ing around a few weeks in the hope of getting 
a purse. Besides, you know the country and 
myself are no strangers to each other. I served 
my time in it when it was far less pleasant than 
it is now, when it was so difficult for me to 
get to confession that I couldn’t afford to com¬ 
mit mortal sin. 

“However, Bishop, I don’t want to leave you 
under the impression that my readiness to go 
to Coventry comes from any wish to leave the 
work of the slums. In my peregrinations and 
sojournings I’ve found good and bad, advan¬ 
tages and disadvantages everywhere, and I ar¬ 
rived at the conclusion long ago that no matter 
where one may be, or in what position, things 
are pretty evenly balanced in the long run, pro¬ 
vided one tries honestly to make the best of 
what he has and is. The slums have their com¬ 
pensations. And to be frank with you, Bishop, 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


91 


I don’t know that I’d give them up, except un¬ 
der obedience, for the best parish at your dis¬ 
posal.” 

“You're right, Father Cahalan,” said the 
Bishop. “I see you have mastered the genuine 
practical philosophy of life. I, too, have al¬ 
ways been a firm believer in nature’s law of 
compensation. And, like yourself, I’m convinced 
that it matters little where a man is, provided 
he’s the right sort. 

“It’s the man that makes the place, not the 
place the man. If one goes to any charge with 
a prejudice — unwillingly — and fosters and 
cherishes his grouch, he will always be dis¬ 
gruntled and miserable. He will blind himself 
to the good points of his position, and miss his 
opportunities for improvement and happiness. 

“The wise man, on the contrary, will have 
ever a keen eye for the bright side and, like 
the ostrich, will bury his head when the dark 
objects loom up, and refuse to look at them 
when the looking would do no good. While 
the one man will find contentment anywhere and 
everywhere, the other will never be satisfied un¬ 
der any conditions. 

“You may be inclined to smile at what I am 
going to say, but it is the truth nevertheless. 
At least that’s the way I feel about it some¬ 
times. If it depended entirely on myself and 


92 


FATHER BILLY 


my own inclinations, I’d rather be in your place 
than the one I hold at present. But I realize 
that I am in it for better or worse, and so try 
to make the best of a bad bargain, instead of 
sitting down and repining at what might have 
been. 

“If we are so constructed, we can all, from 
the youngest assistant up to the Pope, make 
plenty of trouble for our own selves in any walk 
of life. The assistant wants to be his own boss, 
and thinks he will be happy when he gets a 
pastorate; little realizing that then, indeed, his 
real troubles will begin. He may find it harder 
to get on with his curates than he ever found it 
to get on with his pastor. He doesn’t know 
when he is well off. Now he has only petty an¬ 
noyances, which are nothing more than specks 
on the horizon. To a large extent, he is carefree 
and irresponsible. When he becomes a pastor 
he will often have to bear the blame for his as¬ 
sistants’ mistakes as well as his own. 

“The pastor of a small parish wants a larger 
one, forgetting that he would only be adding 
to his difficulties. And—the Lord betune us and 
harm—the big city pastor not infrequently has 
the episcopal bee buzzing in his biretta. And, 
if he gets his wish, he is not long in finding 
out that the Bishop’s office is not quite as soul- 
satisfying as it is cracked up to be. He will 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


93 


then have to shoulder the responsibilities, not 
of one parish, but of all the parishes—as St. 
Paul puts it: ‘the solicitude of all the churches.’ 
To a great extent, his private life is isolated, 
companionless, and a good part of his burdens 
he must bear alone. 

“And then—oh then!—the appointments—the 
most trying item of the episcopal curriculum. 
I wish heartily it were the rule for bishops to 
have an appointing board to deal with this thing. 
It would require the wisdom of the Almighty 
Himself sometimes to strike an average between 
the ‘tuum’ of the Bishop and the ‘meum’ of the 
place-hunting priest; between the place the 
Bishop thinks the man ought to fill, and the 
place the man himself thinks he ought to fill. 
And I doubt seriously whether the Almighty 
Himself could satisfy all of them. 

“There is no lack of volunteers when a good 
parish becomes vacant; no want of zeal for 
work in a wider sphere; no want of self-confi¬ 
dence in their ability for anything and every¬ 
thing. But when there is a question of a di¬ 
vision of parishes, what unbounded love the good 
shepherds show for their sheep, and how un¬ 
willing they are to lose any of them. I suppose 
they want to be able to say, when they go before 
their Judge: ‘Of those whom Thou hast given 
me, I have not lost one.’ No, they are so fond 


94 


FATHER BILLY 


of the sheep that they not only hold on, like 
grim death, to those they have, but try often 
to grab those that belong to their neighbors.” 

“Let ye young min live in hope,” said Father 
Billy, “it won’t be long now until I’ll have to 
surrinder me own sheep and me shepherd’s 
crook to wan of ye. I suppose some of ye have 
been wondhering why I wasn’t considherate 
enough to do that same long ago.” 

“Nonsense, man,” returned the Bishop. 
“You’re still able to do more work than any 
one of your curates. That certainly doesn’t look 
like speedy death. And I’m credibly informed 
that you hear more confessions than any other 
priest in this diocese. How do you manage to 
attract them, anyhow?” asked the Bishop, with 
a wink at the others. 

“Well, it isn’t with honey or taffy anny- 
way,” replied Billy. “I give thim what I think 
they deserve, nayther more nor less. I don’t 
waste anny time on the devout females who come 
every week. They don’t need much in the way 
of advice, as a gineral thing. But when I get 
hould of a poor sinner, I don’t spare meself. 
Mind ye, I don’t mane that I bullyrag the poor 
man. There are confessors who flare up and 
fly off with their pinitints, as though the offince 
was committed against the priest, and not against 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


95 


the Almighty. It dhrives some away from con¬ 
fession altogether. 

“That certainly is not the way the Masther 
acted with sinners, and the soggarth who does 
it hasn’t the spirit of Christ. If the good Lord 
Himself, Who is the wronged One, was so kind 
and merciful to the erring, who, in God’s holy 
Name, are we to do differently? 

“But, on the other hand, the confessor mustn’t 
be soft or negligent. While he oughtn’t to scold 
thim, or yell at thim, he ought to give thim a 
good heart-to-heart, or man-to-man talk, for their 
own good, especially in the case of chronic of¬ 
fenders.” 

“Very well put, Father Billy,” remarked the 
Bishop. “That’s the desideratum. ‘Modus in 
rebus ’—neither harshness nor softness. It’s de¬ 
cidedly much easier for a tired confessor to 
listen to the penitent’s recital, give him his pen¬ 
ance, and let him go without a word. And 
he’d make himself a great deal more popular, 
too. But he wouldn’t be doing his duty, either 
to his penitent or to his God. It’s bad enough 
to be responsible for one’s own sins, without 
having to answer for those of the souls com¬ 
mitted to our trust. Do you have a special con¬ 
fession night for the men, Father Billy?” 

“I do, Bishop ” replied his reverence, “and I 
find that it brings more of the min to their 


96 


FATHER BILLY 


duties. They feel surer of getting their turn, 
than whin the women are there to rush in ahead 
of thim.” 

“Do the women observe the rule, and let the 
men have their night all to themselves?” in¬ 
quired His Lordship. 

“As a gineral thing, they do,” answered Billy. 
“Of course there’ll always be a few of thim there, 
but not enough to interfere greatly. I remimber 
a comic incident Father Gaudentius tould us 
about, at a Retreat some years ago. 

“He was giving a wan week’s Mission at a 
lumber settlement in the Northwest, and he 
fixed on wan night for the min’s confessions, 
‘Now understand clearly,’ he tould them. ‘Fri¬ 
day night will be for the confessions of the min 
only . No women will be heard Friday night.’ 

“Afther the sermon, Friday night, he wint 
to the confessional and, as he was marching 
down the little aisle, what should he see but a 
great big sthrapping dame standing at the door 
of the confessional waiting to be the first to go in. 

“With jaws set, and eyes blazing, he walks 
up to her and says: ‘Didn’t I tell ye plainly 
enough, and often enough, that no women would 
be heard tonight?’ 

“Without batting an eye, she looks him 
squarely in the face, and divil a word she has 
to say for herself. Thinking she was deaf, he 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


97 


makes a megaphone of his two hands and shouts 
in her ear: ‘Confessions tonight for min only. 
No women will be heard.’ 

“As cool as ye plaze, she answers him: ‘I 
heard ye the first time, yere reverence. I haven’t 
been to me duty for forty-five years.’ 

“With that, the breath almost laves his body, 
and, as soon as he recovers it, sez he to her: 
‘Stay Tvhere ye are, me good woman. Sure ye’re 
not a woman at all, at all, ye’re a man.’ ” 

“It’s a mighty hard thing sometimes to keep 
one’s patience when the nerves are all on edge, 
after hours spent in the box,” said Father 
Cahalan, “but it pays in the long run. Late one 
evening, when the confessions were particularly 
heavy, and I was all teetered out, and had a 
headache to boot, a garrulous old woman came 
to my box and started to give me her pedigree. 

“ ‘Now, my good woman,’ says I, ‘you see there 
are lots of people out there waiting to make their 
confession, and it’s getting late. Just tell your 
sins now, and keep the ancient history for 
another time.’ 

“ ‘But, yere riverince,’ she replied, ‘I can’t 
make me confession till I tell ye this.’ And back 
she went again to the days of Niall of the Nine 
Hostages. After waiting most impatiently some 
minutes for the narration to come to an end, 
and seeing no such luck in sight, I said again: 


98 


FATHER BILLY 


‘Now you’ll have to stop that, and tell your sins. 
I haven’t all night to sit here listening to you.’ 

“ ‘Alright, yere riverince,’ said she, nothing 
daunted, ‘but I want ye to know,’ and off she 
was once more, this time back to the reigns of 
Heber and Heremon. 

“In desperation, and hoping to get some relief, 
I pulled out my snuff-box, and was on the point 
of taking a pinch, when she paused in her long- 
winded recital, and said to me: ‘Glory be to 
God, yere riverince, will ye give us a whiff of 
that?’ 

“You may be sure I felt like telling her I’d 
give her a whiff of something else. But, con¬ 
trolling my frazzled nerves with a strong effort, 
I sighed, and handed the snuff-box around to 
her. 

“After that we got on famously; she suddenly 
veered off from the family history, told her sins 
smartly, and in a few minutes we parted, the 
best of friends—at least on her side. And then 
it occurred to me that, if I had let her go on 
without interruption the first time she started, 
I might have saved five or ten minutes.” 

***** 

“Father Billy, did you ever get those two dol¬ 
lars the god-father bamboozled you out of?” in¬ 
quired young Father O’Brien. 


O’BRIEN IN THE COUNTRY 


99 


“Close yere thrap, ye young scalawag,” ordered 
Billy. “Do ye want to make a show of me be¬ 
fore all this assimbly?” 

“Come, O’Brien, let’s have it,” said the 
company in unison, feeling it was something 
good on Father Billy. 

“Well, if it must be tould,” said Father Billy, 
“I’d rather tell it meself, and thin ye’ll get it 
sthraight. That gossoon would make it worse 
than it was. He always does be making a botch 
of a tale annyway. 

“Wan Sunday afthernoon, just as I was about 
to go into the church for the baptisms, a young 
man came to me house in great excitement. 
‘Father,’ sez he, ‘I’m to be a god-father for one 
of the childhren to be baptized, and in changing 
me clothes, I forgot to put me money in me 
pocket. So I haven’t a cint with me, and if I 
don’t offer ye annything after the baptism, I’ll 
be ashamed for the remainder of me life. It’d 
be no use to tell them just what I’ve just tould 
ye—that I forgot it. They wouldn’t believe it; 
they’d think the thruth was that they were daling 
with a skin-flint. Won’t ye lend me a few dol¬ 
lars for a day or so?’ 

“As ye can see for yereselves, his story was 
convincing enough, and meself had no hesitation 
in handing him the two dollars. Afther the bap¬ 
tisms, he handed me a saled envelope, and, whin 


\ 

i i 

» * ■> 

> 9 


» » » 



100 


FATHER BILLY 


I opened it, I found a wan dollar bill in it. If 
the rascal had only given me back what I’d just 
lint him it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the 
scoundhrel made a dollar off me, for the divil 
a penny I ever got of it.” 


XY 

FATHER BILLY MAKES THE “GRAND TOUR” 

What I relate in the following pages I got 
from the lips of Fathers Billy and Cahalan on 
their return. 



‘‘Father Cahalan” 


On the occasion of the venerable pastor’s 
golden jubilee, his people gave him a good fat 
purse, with the suggestion that he take a well-de- 

101 


102 


FATHER BILLY 


served rest from his arduous labors, suggesting, 
too, that a trip to Europe would be the very thing 
for him. And the hint was backed up by his 
clerical confreres. 

So off went Father Billy with his friend, 
Father Cahalan—another hardworked soggarth 
—to see the world. 

A number of friends had come on board the 
Umbria, at Hoboken, to see the tourists off, and 
when the whistle blew for “all off, except the pas¬ 
sengers,” Father Murphy, in his haste to obey 
the summons, forgot to take his belongings with 
him. 

From the pier he called out pleadingly to the 
two men at the rail to throw them down to him. 
Father Cahalan rushed frantically through the 
crowd on deck, returned with a raincoat, and 
delivered it safely. “My umbrella!” cried the 
man below. Another mad rush, and the umbrella 
was restored to its owner. A third time came 
up the wailing cry, “my valise!” 

As Cahalan came back from his third trip, 
he noticed a post near the spot where Murphy 
was standing, and took a deliberate aim to avoid 
it. It might have been better if he hadn’t seen 
the post at all, for he succeeded in hitting the 
very thing he was trying to avoid. Luckily for 
the grip, however, but unluckily for one of the 
bystanders, only the end of the valise struck the 


FATHER BILLY’S “GRAND TOUR” 103 


post, and, instead of falling into the water, it 
fell on a lady’s hat. 

Cahalan said a fervent prayer of gratitude 
that he was safe on board the ocean liner, with 
the gang-plank drawn in. 

The Umbria wasn’t a big boat, as boats go 
now, but she was a marvel for sea evolutions. 
She could pitch and roll and toss in four dif¬ 
ferent directions at once. And when they had 
been out three days, she had an excellent chance 
to show what she could do in that line. 

There was a big, grim, sardonic-looking Wes¬ 
terner on board, whom the others called “Buf¬ 
falo Bill.” Whenever the talk centered on sea¬ 
sickness, Bill almost spat out his disgust. “All 
a crazy imagination of fool women,” he would 
say. 

The day of the great storm Bill was missing. 
A deputation was sent to find out why. After 
loud, persistent rapping, the state-room door was 
opened a quarter of an inch, and just a glimpse 
of Bill’s awful face shown. “Hello, Bill, how 
are you?” asked the knockers. “Go to Helgo¬ 
land,” responded the man of iron nerve, as he 
slammed the door to with all his might. 

When he next appeared on deck he was a 
changed Bill, and whenever the conversation 
veered about to sea-sickness, as it often did—for 
Bill’s benefit—he’d wince and walk off. 


104 


FATHER BILLY 


The night before the storm, when the tempest 
was gathering and the wind high, two big lum¬ 
ber men from Bay City, Michigan, appeared in 
particularly good humor. With storm-coats but¬ 
toned up to the neck, they’d rush up on deck, 
stay five or ten minutes, then scurry back to the 
bar, and call loudly for Scotch and soda, to 
keep them from catching cold. This performance 
they repeated many times, till the bar closed. 

Next morning one of them failed to appear for 
breakfast. Lunch time came and went, and still 
no sign of him. We began to wonder if he had 
fallen overboard. But about three P. M. he made 
his way to the smoking-room, rather subdued- 
looking. The waiter, who had almighty little 
to do that day, looked up brightly at his entrance, 
and made for him as soon as he was seated. 

Bay City, wan of face and haggard of eye, 
glanced at him somberly, and said, huskily, the 
one word: “Soda.” 

Not being used to such an order from the 
lumber king, the waiter thought he hadn’t heard 
right, and queried: “Plain soda?” 

“Yes,” he answered: “plain soda, and make it 
cold—ice.” 

Then turning to his neighbor, he remarked, 
in an audible tone: “We don’t drink enough 
water. We ought to drink a whole lot of water.” 

Sad to relate, Father Billy himself succumbed 


FATHER BILLY’S “GRAND TOUR” 105 


right properly. Until that time he had been the 
life of the company, with his rich Keltic wit 
and humor, and his great fund of anecdotes 
and reminiscences. Few men on board were 
more sought after by old and young. By uni¬ 
versal consent he was styled “Sunny Jim.” 

When the gale was at its height, the few 
whose stomachs had survived the fierce on¬ 
slaughts of the raging tempest, and who were 
able to navigate to the dining-room, were trying, 
between lurches, to convey a morsel from plate 
to palate. Not rarely we were caught just in 
the act, and the morsel failed to reach its des¬ 
tination. It brought home to us with force the 
truth of the old adage: “There’s many a slip 
’twixt the cup and the lip.” 

Father Billy zigzagged into the dining saloon 
rather late, looking much less sunny than usual, 
and he didn’t stay long. After a few heroic ef¬ 
forts to make good, he smiled a sickly smile, and 
caved in. 

“Stick it out like a man, Father Billy,” cried 
the unfeeling onlookers. 

But Billy had reached the limit, and, lifting 
himself up gingerly, he staggered from the saloon. 

After the storm had subsided, what was left 
of the poor old pastor was huddled together in a 
steamer-chair on the promenade deck. Full of 
sympathy, the British deck steward approached 


106 


FATHER BILLY 


and gently whispered: “Feel like a cup of tea?” 

With misery unutterable stamped on every 
feature of his face, Billy summoned up sufficient 



The poor pastor was huddled together in a steamer chair 


energy to look at him, and groaned: “Feel like 
a cup of tay? Holy Mother, do I look like a 
cup of tay?” 

He did, and very weak “tay” at that. 

As the tourists reached Queenstown, they were 
introduced to a fine specimen of the Irish ped¬ 
dler, in the shape of an old woman selling black- 























































FATHER BILLY’S “GRAND TOUR” 107 


thorn sticks. And a shrewd one she was. “Nice 
black-thorn sticks/’ she cried. “Who’ll buy a 
black-thorn stick? Sure, ivery gintleman car¬ 
ries a black-thorn stick.” The inference was ob¬ 
vious, and, needless to say, she sold many a 
black-thorn stick. 


XVI 


IN THE “OULD DART” 

As they were nearing the city of Cork, Father 
Cahalan inquired of Father Billy if he had read 
Thackeray’s “Irish Sketch Book.” “I did,” an¬ 
swered Billy. 

“Do you recall what he says about the Cork- 
onians?” asked Cahalan. 

“I have a gineral recollection,” responded 
Billy, “that he doesn’t say much good of anny 
of us. He’s pretty much like all the rest of the 
Anglo-Saxons—narrow, inshular and one-sided. 
If I remimber rightly, his book is a caricature. 
He never raly got in touch with the people, and 
he didn’t undherstand them. Like all his coun- 
thrymin, he judged thim by English standards. 

“He spakes of their poverty as if it were owing 
to their own want of thrift, intirely forgetting 
that his own tyrannical government is responsi¬ 
ble for the wretched conditions. ‘What a rich 
counthry! Why don’t the Irish farmers till it?’ 

“Why, indeed, don’t they make more money for 
the Saxon landlord to spind on dissipation in 
London? 

“ ‘Why don’t they engage in agriculture, in- 

108 


IN THE “OULD DART” 


109 


stead of begging and starving?’ Why, because 
the Saxon won’t let thim. Because he has stolen 
the best part of the soil which belongs to thim, 
and turned it into pleasure-parks and hunting- 
grounds for himself. Wait till ye ride through 
Wicklow, and see acre after acre finced off, with 
‘no trespass’ signs, and signs telling ye that it 
all belongs to the Earl of Meath, or such another 
scalawag, while the rightful owners have scarce¬ 
ly a patch as big as yere own backyard to raise 
pitaties for themselves. 

“I don’t wondher the poor victims of fraud 
were goaded to violence now and thin. The 
great wondher is that they are as patient as they 
are.” 

“Yes,” said Father Cahalan, “the ‘Sketch 
Book’ is little more than a tissue of misrepre¬ 
sentations. True, its author does ample justice 
to the beauties of the Irish landscape, but when 
there is question of the traits and character¬ 
istics of the people, he generally chooses the dark¬ 
est and worst side. 

“He seems to ignore the fact that there are 
as many beggars in England as in Ireland, and 
infinitely more thieves. If the Irish beggar 
makes his request in the Name of God, and 
accompanies it with a prayer, the cockney chron¬ 
icler at once scents rank hypocrisy. Does the 
gentle nun, leading a life of self-denial which to 


110 


FATHER BILLY 


Mm appears intolerable, come to meet Mm with 
a happy, artless smile? Instanter, he suspects 
that her manner is assumed to hide her discon¬ 
tent. Let an old woman stumble in the midst 
of the Lord’s Prayer. Immediately he sets it 
down to ignorance, never stopping to reflect that 
she is accustomed to say her prayers in the 
Gaelic. 

“However,” continued Father Cahalan, “if we 
search among Thackeray’s pile of husks, we can 
find a few good grains of wheat, and perhaps the 
best of them is the fine compliment he pays to 
the people of Cork. Says he: 

“ ‘The charming gayety and frankness of the 
Irish ladies have been noted and admired by 
every foreigner who has had the good fortune 
to mingle in their society, and I hope it is not 
detracting from the merit of the upper classes 
to say that the lower are not a whit less pleasing. 
I never saw in any country such a general grace 
of manner and ladyhood. In the midst of their 
gayety, too, it must be remembered that they 
are the chastest of women, and that no country 
in Europe can boast of such a general purity.’ 

“As regards the men of Cork, too, he freely 
admits that they are superior to his own country¬ 
men, not only in wit and vivacity, but also in 
literary taste and talent. He even goes so far as 
to say that the citizens of Cork are the most 


IN THE “OULD DART” 


111 


book-loving men he ever met; and speaks of 
boys, almost in rags, discussing ancient history 
with as much intelligence as he ever found in 
the sons of the best-read gentlemen in England.” 

* • * * * 

Our tourists saw the “Blarney Stone,” but did 
not kiss it. And they both give it as their candid 
opinion that many of those who claim to have 
kissed it, wouldn’t exactly take first prize in a 
truth-telling contest. 

“I don’t need it for meself,” said Billy, “and 
if I did, I’d not be such an old fool as to risk 
me bones for it. Tin to wan, if I thried it, in 
place of getting more of the blarney, I’d lose me 
spache intirely.” 

One of a group of Irish girls on the parapet 
—a healthy, rosy-cheeked lass—offered to hold 
Father Billy’s heels for him. 

“It’s a sthrong timptation,” answered the pas¬ 
tor, “but I’m afraid if I yielded, me frind 
Cahalan here’d be stepping into me shoes, and 
I don’t want to give him that chance for a while.” 

* * * * * 

As the train rolled along through one of the 
most beautiful and picturesque of Irish land¬ 
scapes, the Glengariff route to Killarney, Father 
Billy said to his companion. “I don’t wondher at 


112 


FATHER BILLY 


the fairy lore of Ireland. If there are such things 
as fairies, Erin must surely be their home. There 
is no fitter place for thim than this charming 
island, with its lovely lakes, and romantic glins, 
and enchanting hills and dales.” 

“I sometimes wonder,” mused Father Cahalan, 
“if the capriciousness of the ‘good people’ has 
anything to do with the temperament of the 
Gael. His make-up is a strange compound of 
mirth and melancholy, and he changes so quick¬ 
ly from the one to the other. Did you ever notice 
the strain of sadness that runs through all the 
old Irish melodies? 

“The Kelt will joke at times when his heart 
is heaviest. And it’s well for him that he can. 
I believe it’s this saving grace that has kept him 
from degenerating into a cowering slave of Brit¬ 
ain, and enabled him to retain his independent 
spirit through those long dark centuries of tyr¬ 
anny and destitution.” 

In spite of the beauties of Killarney’s lakes, 
it was the melancholy strain that predominated 
during their brief stay. They had run into that 
rainy, depressing weather so common in the 
Green Isle, and it seemed to have its effect on 
place and people. 

As they strolled along College Street, there was 
little mirth, but much sadness, on the faces of 
the men lolling about idle, and the women walk- 


IN THE “OULD DART’’ 


113 


ing to and fro, or gathered about in the door¬ 
ways, meanly clad, with shawls on their heads, 
abbreviated skirts, shoeless and stockingless— 
though the day w r as raw and damp. 

An incident that occurred as our friends were 
leaving Killarney, illustrates pretty fairly the 
average Hibernian’s calm, philosophic way of 
doing things, and his complete freedom from 
nervous excitement and fretfulness. 

When it came to within a few minutes of train 
time, the pair sauntered to the railway station, 
leaving their luggage on the hotel truck. Time 
passed, and no sign of the porter. Getting wor¬ 
ried, they hurried back and took their grips from 
the truck. Some ten or fifteen minutes later, the 
train had not yet arrived, but the porter came 
along leisurely, grinned mischievously at the 
punctual travelers, and said: “So ye thought 
ye’d be left, yere rivirences? I’ve been porther 
here for the last fifteen years and never yet 
missed a thrain. Sure, the thrain has to wait for 
me.” 

* * * * * 


Between Mallow and Waterford the tourists 
witnessed one of those scenes so frequent in that 
unhappy country, the departure of a poor emi¬ 
grant for the land of freedom and opportunity. 
His relatives and friends, to the number of twelve 


114 


FATHER BILLY 


or fifteen, were at the wayside station to see 
him off; all poorly garbed, the women in the 
never-failing short skirt, bare footed, a shawl 
for head-gear, the tears streaming down their 
faces, wringing their hands and groaning: “O 
wirra, wirra asthrne, wirra, wirra asthrue!” (I 
can’t vouch for the spelling, I am giving it the 
way it sounded.) 

It was a gray day—cold and depressing enough 
without this incident. A drizzling rain was fall¬ 
ing, and the landscape awfully dreary. An Irish 
gentleman in the compartment with our friends 
—one, no doubt, used to such scenes, and hard¬ 
ened to them—started to smile at the occurrence, 
but, when he saw the tears in Billy’s eyes, the 
smile disappeared. 

Standing in the doorway of their hotel in 
Waterford the evening of their arrival, the travel¬ 
ers were amused at the antics of some ragged 
and bare-footed newsboys playing about in the 
pouring rain as contentedly as if they were en¬ 
joying all the comforts of home. They were mak¬ 
ing no efforts to sell their papers, and didn’t seem 
to care whether they sold them or not. They 
appeared to act on the independent principle 
that the buyers should seek the sellers, that, if 
people were badly in need of news, they’d come 
after it. 

Father Cahalan remarked this to the boys (in- 



IN THE “OULD DART’’ 


115 


wardly contrasting their methods with the 
hustling policy of American newsboys), but they 
only laughed good-naturedly. When the two 
priests scattered some coins among them, they 
thanked their benefactors like perfect little gen¬ 
tlemen, despite their tatters. 

***** 

At Woodenbridge, the twain hired a jaunting 
car after dinner at Moore’s Hotel and proceeded 
to the “Meeting of the Waters.” I am sorry to 
say that they, like many another before and after 
them, were greatly disappointed. The scenery 
was enchanting enough, but they didn’t see any¬ 
thing particularly remarkable in the “Meeting 
of the Waters.” 

“Why,” remarked Father Bily, “we have big¬ 
ger rivers than that at home, in our own back¬ 
yard, after a heavy rain.” 

The jarvie, who was expecting something like 
that, chuckled gleefully, and said: “It wasn’t 
so much the spot, yer rivirence, as the associa¬ 
tions connected with it, that made it dear to 
Tom Moore. Don’t ye remimber the raison he 
gives in the poem? 

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er the scene 

Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 

’Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, 

Oh, no—it was something more exquisite still. 


116 


FATHER BILLY 


’Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, 
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, 

And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, 
When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 

“As like as not, it was in the eyes of his col¬ 
leen bawn that he saw the ‘Meeting of the 
Wathers.’ ” 


XVII 


AT GLENDALOUGH OF THE SEVEN CHURCHES 

Fortunately, the day of Fathers Billy and 
Cahalan’s visit to this charming and romantic 
country was a favorable one. The weather was 
delightful (though a little too warm at one time, 
as shall appear shortly), the sky cloudless, and 
the bright sunshine just what was needed to show 
to full advantage the beauties of the Glen. 

Our friends had for companions on the jaunt¬ 
ing car a young English Canadian, and a great, 
big, middle-aged Briton from Liverpool. The 
former was of the silent type, the latter, genial 
and companionable. The driver was a good speci¬ 
men of the shrewd, witty, rollicking Irish jarvie, 
and he had spent some time in New York. 

As the passengers neared the Glen, he re¬ 
marked : “This is what they call the Diviks Glin, 
the divil himself is the landlord here. And,” 
he continued, with a glance at the Herculean 
Englishman, and a sly wink to Father Billy, 
“for that matther, I might say he’s the chief land¬ 
lord all over Ireland.” 

The path through the Glen is too narrow to 
admit of a car, so, letting his fares down at the 

117 


118 


FATHER BILLY 


entrance, he said: “Now ye have a short walk 
of a mile or so through the Glin. The day is 
fine, and the place finer, and ye won’t feel tired 
till ye’re at the other ind. I’ll meet ye there.” 

The distance seemed to the travelers more like 
two miles than one. If it was hot in the car, 
it was hotter on foot. Before long the two sog- 
garths’ collars were completely wilted, and the 
huge Briton w r as blowdng like a w^hale. But 
really the scene was ample compensation for the 
discomfort. 

For, in spite of its ugly name, the Devil’s Glen 
is surpassingly beautiful. One of Nature’s own 
grand Gothic cathedrals, with the forests for 
nave and aisles, the trees for pillars, their inter¬ 
twining branches overhead for arches, and the 
cheery birds for choristers. And the effect en¬ 
hanced by the alternating light and shade pro¬ 
duced by the play of the sunbeams. 

A peculiar feature of the thing is that w r hen 
one emerges from the Glen, and looks back for 
a retrospect, the ravine has disappeared as com¬ 
pletely as though the earth had opened and 
swallowed it. Not a trace of it to be seen. 

When they came out on the road, Father Billy 
said to the jarvie: “I thought ye w r ere an honest 
man, but I’m thinking now ye’re not. Why did 
you tell us it was only a mile?” 

But, as usual, their man had his answer ready. 


GLENDALOUGH 


119 


“Oh, sure I meant an Irish mile, yer rivirence,” 
said he, with a broad grin and twinkling eyes. 

On reaching the old cemetery, Mr. Jarvie ob¬ 
served: “They had a very payculiar rule about 
that graveyard. They never allowed anny wan to 
be buried there but deef and dumb people.” 

“Oh, I say,” exclaimed the Britisher, “and why 
is thot?” 

I have strong doubts that he sees the point even 
now. 

“I trust,” said Father Billy, “that story of 
St. Kevin O’Toole throwing the poor girl from 
the top of that beetling rock is but fiction. It’d 
be too bad to have to believe such a wild tale of 
wan of the saints. But what are you thinking of, 
Cahalan?” inquired he, noticing his companion’s 
absorption. “Ye look like ye’d seen a vision.” 

“I was thinking of Thackeray’s impressions of 
Glendalough,” replied Father Cahalan, “and I 
realize now what he meant. Says he: 

“ ‘I don’t know if there is any tune about 
Glendalough, but if there be, it must be the 
most delicate, fantastic fairy melody that ever 
was played. Only fancy can describe the charms 
of that delightful place. Directly you see it, it 
smiles at you as innocent and friendly as a little 
child, and, once seen, it becomes your friend for¬ 
ever, and you are always happy when you think 
of it.’ ” 


120 


FATHER BILLY 


On their return to the hotel, their big English 
friend invited them to take five o’clock tea with 
him. They took it for politeness 7 sake; but they 
had as much as they could do to refrain from 
merriment at the incongruity of the man and 
the tay. Scotch and soda would have sounded 
more natural from one of his bulk. 

Whenever they came to an up-grade on the road 
to Rathdrum, the jarvie suggested that it would 
be highly beneficial for them to get out and take 
a nice walk. Though they suspected that he had 
the interests of the horse more at heart than 
theirs, they readily followed his advice; for a 
jaunting car ride of fifteen or twenty miles, over 
roads that are none of the best, has a tendency 
to cramp the legs. 

Among the yarns told them by the driver, the 
one that stuck best and longest was this: 

“Paddy and Sandy were traveling together, 
and whin they put up for the night, there was 
just wan dhrink left in the bottle. While Sandy 
was out of the room, Paddy helped himself to 
this last dhrink, and hid the bottle undher the 
bed. In the wee sma’ hours of the morning, he 
heard the Caledonian pooching about, and in¬ 
quired what he was lookin’ for. ‘Naethin , 7 an¬ 
swered Sandy short, just like that. 

“ ‘Well thin/ said Paddy, ‘ye’ll find it in that 
bottle undher the bed . 7 77 


GLENDALOUGH 


121 


Off by rail, along the wild Irish Sea, and the 
sad Irish coast, to 

ERIN^S CAPITAL 

When dealing with prosperous-looking people, 
particularly with the clergy, the average jarvie 
doesn’t care to name a definite charge for his 
services; but prefers to “lave it to His Honor or 
His Kivirence,” hoping thereby to get more than 
his regular fee. 

Hearing this so often, Father Cahalan at last 
got tired of it; and, one day, in a little fit of 
irritation, said to the driver: “Look here, this 
is a business proposition, not an invitation. Drop 
the ‘rivirence’ and tell us your charge.” 

“I never done that in me life befure, yer rivir¬ 
ence,” replied the fellow, “an’ I don’t intind to 
commince at this late day. Ye can give me what* 
ever ye think fit.” 

Half in mischief, half in pique, the priest 
handed him a sixpence. “How will that do?” 
asked he. 

“I niver go back on me word, yer rivirence,” 
retorted the ever-ready son of Erin, “but, for 
God’s sake, jump into the car befure the harse 
gets a look at ye.” 

Billy laughed till he grew red in the face, and 
when he had finished, said to his fellow traveler: 
“That’s the best wan I ever heard on ye, Cahalan. 


122 


FATHER BILLY 


It’s worth the thrip across th’ Atlantic, and all 
the say-sickness. Wait till I tell it at home.” 

***** 

After viewing Dublin’s fine old parks and pub¬ 
lic squares, its handsome public buildings and 
shops, its pretty residential sections, Father 
Cahalan remarked that it was a pity and a shame 
that so few people know how splendid Ireland’s 
metropolis really is. 

“For that matther,” said Father Billy, “most of 
thim have the same ignorance about all Ireland. 
How manny do ye think have anny idea of what 
we’ve seen in the wan county of Wicklow alone? 
I wish to God, wan people at laste had niver 
known annything of its beauties or its fruitful¬ 
ness. Thin we might have had it to ourselves the 
last eight hundhred years.” 

The Dublin Exhibition was at its height when 
our friends arrived in the capital. Regarding it 
as a ruse of the British government to give the 
outside world a false impression of actual condi¬ 
tions, most of the Irish were not much in sym¬ 
pathy with the big show. 

Of course there was an “Irish village”; and the 
two priests witnessed a highly amusing incident 
while going through it. Entering one of the 
shacks they saw some animals standing about 
behaving very quietly. A young man (evidently 


GLENDALOUGH 


123 


not an Irishman) touched one of them with the 
toe of his shoe to see if there was any life in it. 
There wasn’t. He did in like manner to others, 
always with the same result. Finally, he spied 
the figure of an old woman seated in a corner 
and prodded that likewise. But it very quickly 
gave striking evidence that one figure at least 
was not stuffed, and the toe of the young man’s 
boot touched no more objects that day. 


xvm 


TWO DAYS IN ROSCOMMON 

As they drove from the railway station to the 
little hotel, over one of Ireland’s wretched roads, 
with the wheels of the car an inch deep in mud, 
Father Cahalan said to the jarvie: “Let’s get out 
of this abominable hole and make for one of your 
streets.” 

Father Billy, who had good reason to know 
conditions, (it being his birthplace) gave way to 
most undignified chuckling, while the driver an¬ 
swered with the most comical of grins: “They’re 
all pretty much the same, yer rivirence, this is 
about the best of thim.” 

Though Roscommon is a rather poor little 
town of some few thousand, with thatched-roof 
cabins and unpaved streets, it can boast of a truly 
magnificent church. And the fact that the 
Church of the Sacred Heart was built with 
American money, proves that the exiled sons and 
daughters of Erin, and their descendants, are not 
in the habit of turning a deaf ear to their mother’s 
piteous appeals for help. 

The day after their arrival, Billy thought he 
was done for. And so did Cahalan. The pre- 

124 


[ 


TWO DAYS IN BOSCOMMON 125 


vious afternoon, the two had taken a long ride in 
an old, rickety car, over old, rickety roads, and 
when Billy awoke next morning he could hardly 
move. 

“Cahalan,” he cried, 

“I believe in me sowl 
I’m paralyzed. I’m 
afeered ye’ll have to 
bury me old bones 
here where they came 
from, and go home 
be yerself.” 

Cahalan was really 
concerned for a while. 

But at last, recalling 
his own soreness, 
which he had forgot¬ 
ten for the time, he 
knew it was all due to 
the abominable road 
and car, and, after 
doctoring the patient, 
managed to get him 
out of bed and limber 
him up. 

At Ballydooley they ran across a retired 
schoolmaster, a fine type of the old Irish peda¬ 
gogue. His cottage, a pretty little dwelling, with 
a neat, well-kept garden, was like an oasis amid 



When Billy azvoke next morn¬ 
ing he could hardly move 




































126 


FATHER BILLY 


the poor, bleak desert land which it overlooked. 

The old man was full of intelligence, and like¬ 
wise of fun. It was surprising how well informed 
he was, not only in the things he had taught, 
but also on world conditions, especially American 
affairs. He read the St. Louis newspapers regu¬ 
larly. He explained that they were sent him by 
his son, Father D-, of the St. Louis diocese. 

This west country more so than the eastern 
part, is in the hands of English landlords who do 
nothing for their tenants, but rather thrive like 
parasites on the life blood of the people, using 
thousands and thousands of acres as pasture 
land, while many of the natives are on the verge 
of starvation. 

By way of protest against this iniquitous 
scheme of things, a cattle drive was on during the 
priests’ stay in Roscommon, and the old dominie 
made them laugh heartily, telling of the conster¬ 
nation and stupidity of the caretakers and the 
clever tricks of the cattle-drivers. 

At Scardown, some five miles from Roscom¬ 
mon, the tourists called on an elderly couple, the 
father and mother of a prosperous newspaper 
man of Father Billy’s parish. 

This ancient pair furnished a striking instance 
of the stanch conservatism of the old Irish and 
their deep attachment to the land of their birth. 
As it is, they are prosperous, owing to the gen- 



TWO DAYS IN ROSCOMMON 127 


erosity of their son; and he has often pleaded 
with them to come and live in ease and comfort 
with him. But all to no effect. They vastl.' 



“What’ll we give their rivirences for coming so 
far to see us?” 


prefer the mean little hovel they have so long 
known as home. 

The husband was a tall, stern looking old 
fellow, a former member of the Constabulary; 
the wife a short, chubby, pleasant faced woman 


























128 


FATHER BILLY 


the antithesis of her man. She was naturally 
proud of her successful son and eager to talk 
of him. But the old man wouldn’t let her. “Now 
shtop it,” he’d say, “his rivirence don’t want to be 
hearing about yere son.” 

As the priests were leaving, the old man said 
to the wife: “What’ll we give their rivirences 
for coming so far to see us? Will we give thim 
five pounds?” “Yis, agra;” she replied. 

Needless to observe, our friends declined the 
offering. “I believe in me heart,” said Father 
Billy when they got outside, “they think we came 
all the way from America to visit thim.” 

Before leaving the county, the travelers paid 
a visit to one of Father Billy’s boyhood chums, 
Tom Skelly, and as good luck would have it, they 
arrived just in time for one of Tom and Julia’s 
wedding anniversaries. The festive board was 
weighted down with the good things of earth, air 
and sea. Tom was in the best of humor, and for 
that matter so was every one else. They all had 
plenty to put them in good humor. 

“Whin I wint coortin’,” said Tom, “I was as 
grane a granehorn as iver wore shoe-leather.” 

“An’ if I know annythin’,” muttered his buxom 
spouse, “ye’re a granehorn still.” 

“Well,” resumed the host, “that’s nayther here 
nor there. Ye must admit for yere own sake at 
laste that I had a good pair of eyes annyhow. 


TWO DAYS IN ROSCOMMON 129 


An’ whin me eyes lighted on me jewel forninst ye 
there, sez I to meself, ‘that’s me affinity, me sowl 
mate.’ Ay coorse I didn’t know thim words at 
that time but that’s the way I felt. ‘An,’ sez I 
to meself, ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ 
So afther manny attimpts I med meself an’ purty 
Jule acquainted.” (Purty Jule’s broad physiog¬ 
nomy here took on a deep shade of crimson.) 
“But I don’t think anny man alive iver had so 
manny ups an’ downs in his coortship, or was iver 
got into such a thremenjous thrap. I was niver a 
bit afeared of landin’ me colleen there.” This was 
a wee bit more than the stalwart madam could 
stand. So she bridled up and retorted: “Indado 
thin ye had no lack of consate. If ye but knew 
the thruth ye had ivery raison to be afeared. I 
wasn’t depindin’ on the likes of ye. I had manny 
a betther nor ye cornin’ a-coortin’, and it was only 
out of pity for ye that I consinted to take ye.” 

Tom gave a knowing wink to the company and 
took up the thread of his story. “Well, as I was 
sayin’ I wasn’t afeared of the gerl. But to make 
a long shtory short, Julie’s mother was livin’ 
at the time, an’ a charmin’ widda woman she was. 
I knew that if I wanted the daughther, I’d have 
to soother the mother, and so I did. But the 
throuble was, I soothered her too much intirely, 
till she got it into her head that it was her I 
was coortin’ inshtid of the daughther. 


130 


FATHER BILLY 


“Grane as I was, I saw it all well enough; but 
I daren’t let on for fear she’d bar me out of the 
house. I did thry, av coorse, in little odd ways 
to undesave her, but wasn’t man enough to come 
out shquare an’ honest, an’ tell her the thruth. 
I consoled meself with the thought that matches 
were med in heaven an’ thrusted to Providence to 
bring it all right in th’ ind.” 

Spake Julia: “Her worst inimy couldn’t have 
wished me poor mother a worse misfortune nor 
to have got the like of ye.” 

Tom winked at the guests again, for he knew, 
and all the rest seemed to know, too, that the 
blooming Julie had been mighty glad to land him, 
in spite of his faults. 

“Whin the time kem,” continued the narrator, 
“to ax the mother’s consint to me marryin’ the 
daughther, I almost losht me wits, what little I 
had left of thim.” 

“Thrue for ye,” muttered Julie, “ye niver did 
have much of thim to boasht of.” 

“I mintioned me fears to Jule there,” he went 
on, “but she could niver be med to see that her 
mother had annything more nor frindship for me, 
and laughed at me for a poor omadhaun. I saw 
more an’ more ivery time I kem that I was right, 
an’ whin the turrble momint sthruck, me nerves 
were so flutthered I had to take a big dose of 


TWO DAYS IN ROSCOMMON 131 


sperrits of ammony (with a side wink at the 
company) to shtiffen me backbone.” 

Julie, who had never known her lesser half to 
take such a thing as ammonia, and who knew 
well what sort of a bracer he had taken on the 
momentous occasion, was too convulsed to say 
anything. 

“Well, at anny rate,” continued Tom, “with me 
heart thumpin’ like an ingine till it seemed like 
it was goin’ to break from its moorin’s and take 
up its headquarthers in me mouth, an’ me knees 
knockin’ agin aich other an’ me face as white as a 
ghosht’s, I med up to the widdy. 

“She kep lookin’ at me a while with a most 
tindher compassion, I thought, an’ at lasht she 
axed me: ‘Tom, what on earth ails ye? I niver 
see ye so bad befure. Is it the docthor ye want?” 

“At that I shtooped down an’ picked up the 
tiny bits of me courage that were lyin’ scatthered 
all over the Sure, an’ managed to say: ‘I belave 
in me sowl I am sick, but ye’re me docthor, Mrs. 
O’Neill.’ 

“I’d a nate little spache ready which I’d gone 
over agin an’ agin, till I thought I’d be able to 
thrip it off as aisily as me prayers. But whin 
I see the look on the widdy’s face as I called her 
me docthor, I shtood like a shtick, an’ clane for¬ 
got ivery word of me lesson. Afther shtandin’ 
ferninst her for what seemed to me a week of 


132 


FATHER BILLY 


days, like a dumb ox, I managed at lasht to blurt 
out in disperation, betune me gulps, ‘It’s Julia I 
want.’ 

“That med lier look quarer than iver, an’ she 
answered: ‘You know as well as I do that Julie 
is up shtairs. Didn’t ye just lave her? If ye 
want her, why on airth don’t ye go up and get 
her? Who’s hindherin’ ye?” 

“It’s to marry her I want,” said I. 

“ ‘O, so that’s it, is it?’ sez she. ‘Well, y’re both 
ould enough to have sinse to know what ye want, 
an’ I suppose ye can settle it betune ye.’ 

“And with that she wint off, cold-like, to me 
great surprise. Divil a word of reproach or re¬ 
gret, or a word, or a sigh did she give. So Jule 
an’ meself did settle it betune us, and here we 
are, as ye see, for betther or worse.” 

“If I know meself,” retorted the genial hostess, 
“It’s surely for worse. But there’s no use in 
cryin’ over shpilt milk; so I suppose I’ll have to 
go on till th’ ind of me days thryin’ to make the 
besht of a bad bargain.” 


XIX 


NORTHWARD HO! 

Another of the days so common in Erin, a gray 
gloomy day beside the cheerless billows of the 
sad, wild Irish sea. Past the Hill of Howth, 
and Malahide of the Talbots, and Balbriggan, 
where they make the celebrated hose, and Drog¬ 
heda with its memories of the Cromwellian mas¬ 
sacre of 1649, and the Battle of the Boyne, and 
its present occupation of brewing the best ale to 
be had in the United Kingdom, to the handsome 
and prosperous town of Dundalk where St. 
Bridget was born and Edward, the Bruce, 
crowned king of Ireland in 1315. 

There are no signs of squalor or extreme pov¬ 
erty in or around Dundalk; rather everything 
that makes life worth living; a peaceful, smiling 
landscape, substantial farms with their neat, trim 
cottages, and a general air of thrift and well 
being. The town itself, pleasantly and profit¬ 
ably situated on the Bay of Dundalk, has indus¬ 
tries enough for a much bigger place. The popu¬ 
lation of about fifteen thousand is almost wholly 
Catholic, and its churches are among the finest 
on the island. 


133 


134 


FATHER BILLY 


Our friends met a stalwart farmer, with a half 
dozen equally stalwart sons, and they asked him 
if he had ever thought of going to America. 

“No,” he answered, “I’d have to work in 
Ameriky as well as here, an’ mebbe harder. I’m 
me own boss. I have plinty to ate an’ wear, me 
own cattle, an’ a good roof to shelther me. What 
more could I want?” 

A true philosopher, and the priests took care 
to tell him so. Would there were many more of 
his way of thinking! 


XX 


IN SCOTLAND 

At Belfast they took shipping for Glasgow. 
But as Father Billy remarked, all big cities are 
pretty much alike, so they didn’t tarry long in 
either place. Their objective was that most 
charming country immortalized by Sir Walter, 
“Where the rude Trossachs’ dread defile, Opens 
on Katrine’s lake and isle.” 

By Dumbarton, said by some antiquarians to 
have been the birthplace of St. Patrick, later the 
prison of Wallace and Mary Stuart; up the glen 
of the Leven to Balloch, where they took the 
steamer for the Loch Lomond trip. The beauty 
of the lake, with the huge Ben Lomond in the 
distance, and the castles and mansions perched 
aloft on the lesser heights, and the lovely islands 
scattered about the Loch, kept them thoroughly 
interested throughout. 

Making allowance for the steep road from 
Inversnaid to Loch Katrine, which Billy char¬ 
acterized as “worse than the rocky roads to Dub¬ 
lin,” both priests freely admitted ever afterward 
that the Lochs and Trossachs tour was one of the 

135 


136 


FATHER BILLY 


most entrancing of all their European experi¬ 
ences. 

At Stronachlachar Pier they boarded the “Sir 
Walter Scott” for the passage of Loch Katrine, 
the “Robbers’ Lake.” As they emerged at the 
other end of the Loch, they could grasp the mean¬ 
ing of Sir Walter’s enthusiasm. Beneath them 
the loch “in all her length far winding lay, With 
promontory, creek and bay, And islands, that 
empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light; 
And mountains that like giants stand, To senti¬ 
nel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Ben 
Venue, Down to the lake in masses threw, Crags, 
knolls and mounds, confusedly hurled, The frag¬ 
ments of an earlier world; A wildering forest 
feathered o’er, His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through middle air, Ben 
An heaved high his forehead bare.” 

On we go through the weird gorge in the foot¬ 
steps of Fitz-James and Roderick Dku, like the 
soldiers in the guardroom holding “debate of 
bloody fray, Fought ’twixt Loch Katrine and 
Achray;” thinking of the days of chivalry when: 
“Each warrior was a chosen man,” etc. 

The “bristling country” of the Trossachs is 
never seen to greater advantage than when a light 
rain is falling. It adds to the natural weirdness 
of the scene. And in this respect the gods were 
good to the tourists. 


IN SCOTLAND 


137 


The vicinity of the lochs and the Trossachs is 
redolent of the memories of Sir Walter and his 
heroes and heroines, and one can readily imagine 
the effect which the beauty of the lake and the 
wild grandeur of the glens must have had on the 
poet’s mind. Flora has certainly been most lavish 
in her gifts to this wild district. As Sir Walter 
puts it: 

Boon nature scattered, free and wild, 

Each plant or flower, the mountain’s child. 

Here eglantine embalmed the air, 

Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; 

The primrose pale and violet flower 
Found in each clift a narrow bower; 

Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, 

Group’d their dark hues with every stain 
The weather-beat’n crags retain. 

With boughs that quaked at every breath, 

Gray birch and aspen wept beneath, 

Aloft the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock; 

And higher yet the pine tree hung 
His shattered trunk and frequent flung, 

Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 

His boughs athwart the narrow’d sky. 

So wondrous wild the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 

“Certainly there isn’t annything soft about the 
scenery or climate of the highlands,” observed 


138 


FATHER BILLY 


Father Billy. “Small wonder they bred such a 
brave and hardy race.” 

On the w T ay to Edinburgh they passed the fa¬ 
mous old fortress which has played such a part in 
Scottish history, Stirling Castle, perched aloft 
on the summit of a rocky eminence, so strong and 
bold, so proud and defiant, a truly noble and im¬ 
posing picture. 

Over that magnificent specimen of engineering 
the cantilever Forth Bridge, nearly two miles 
long, and they were soon in Scotland’s capital. 

On the day of their visit to the Castle some 
raw recruits were going through their drill. They 
were a wfild, uncouth-looking set, reminding one 
of the fierce and hardy Highlanders w T hom we 
read of in Scott. Awkwardly, but swiftly, they 
went through the evolutions, as though they were 
in training for a hundred yard dash. But to do 
them justice, while they were not just the sort to 
capture the ladies’ hearts on dress parade, no 
doubt they could make a far better showing in a 
time of need than some of the polished dandies. 

“Arrah, thin,” chuckled Father Billy, as he 
watched them, “anny one who’d have the thought 
to take a moving picture of thim lads and show 
it at home’d soon make a fortune.” 

They were fortunate enough to hear a High¬ 
land band concert in Princes-St. Gardens, and a 
rare treat it was. As they played, the pipers 


IN SCOTLAND 


139 


paced rapidly to and fro with martial tread, keep¬ 
ing time with the music, just as their forbears 
had marched for generations, keyed up, braced, 
inspirited by their stirring national ballads. 

On the return from Holyrood Palace they 
passed through Edinburgh’s Bowery, the Cow- 
gate, with its dirt and filth, its squalid hovels, 
and still more squalid people; and both Billy 
and Cahalan said later that they saw more 
misery and drunkenness there in the space of fif¬ 
teen minutes than they saw in all the rest of 
Europe together. It may just have been their 
luck to hit upon a bad time, and so get a false 
impression. At all events they were glad to ad¬ 
mit that the incident did not detract from the 
glory and fame of the “Modern Athens,” the home 
of many of the foremost exponents of human 
learning and culture. 

“IPs plain to see,” remarked Father Billy, 
after many practical proofs of what he was about 
to say, “that all their learning and culture don’t 
blind the Scotch min to the value of the pound 
and the shilling. No, nor love ayther. I heard 
tell o’ wan o’ thim whose lassie had promised to 
give him his answer be a certain day. So he wint 
to the telegraph office that day as often as he got 
the chance and still no word kem. Whin it did 
come at lasht, late in the night, the operator, 
who knew what he was afther, said to him: ‘Well, 


140 


FATHER BILLY 


Sandy, th’ answer is here at last and it’s yes, 
but I’ll be banged if I’d marry a woman who kept 
me waiting on tinter-hooks the way she kept you.’ 
‘Hoot, mon/ replied Sandy, ‘the wumman that 
waits for the nicbt rates is the wumman for me.’ ” 

“Yes,” said Father Cahalan, “the ‘praefervi - 
dum ingenium Scotorum’ was known far and 
wide ages ago, and it is just as much in evidence 
to-day as it ever was, in the department of thrift 
and money-making. I believe the canny Scot is a 
match even for the Jew.” 

Melrose! Abbotsford! Dryburgh! What an 
unspeakable charm there is about this district! 
It simply can’t be transferred to paper. It would 
be easy enough to describe the ruins and the 
aspect of the country, but to convey one’s im¬ 
pressions, the awe, the reverence, the sense of the 
ancient, bygone happenings and the contrast of 
the present is a thing impossible. 

As we stroll through the quaint, quiet, deserted 
streets, or over the foot-bridge that spans the 
Tweed, after night has fallen on the little town 
of Melrose, and the chimes peal forth the passing 
hours, one is penetrated with that other-world 
feeling, especially if he has just come from a busy, 
modern city. Even now it seems as though the 
place were permeated with the atmosphere of 


IN SCOTLAND 


141 


religious peace and quiet, as though the spirits 
of the ancient monks were still hovering over it. 

All that is left of the Abbey, the most magnifi¬ 
cent edifice of Scotland in the ages of faith and 
chivalry, is part of the conventual church. But 
even in its decay, the pile is splendid to look upon. 

And the ruins of Dryburgh, the burial place of 
Sir Walter, are certainly not far behind. On 
leaving the coach, our tourists crossed the Tweed 
by the shaky old suspension bridge. It required 
more than a little coaxing on the part of Father 
Cahalan to induce Father Billy to set foot on 
the flimsy-appearing structure. “I don’t feel in 
the humor of taking a bath in me best Sunday 
clothes,” said Billy. He got across safely, how¬ 
ever, as many others with similar fears before 
him. 

The approach to the ruins is by a long, noble 
avenue, thickly lined with fine trees and while the 
remains of the once famous Abbey, the old chap¬ 
ter-house, may be somewhat inferior to those of 
Melrose, the surroundings are not. 

As Father Cahalan was enthusing about Scott 
and his characters, he was greatly surprised to 
hear a discordant note from a most unexpected 
quarter. “Nae wonder,” said their driver, “Scott 
had a kindly feelin’ for Bob Koy an’ his caterans. 
His own forbears were ance in the same business. 
What were the Scotts an’ Buccleuchs themsels,” 


142 FATHER BILLY 

he finished drily, “but a lot of bletherin’ sheep- 
stealers?” 

* •* * * * 


To Abbotsford they next wended their way, 
and passing down a steep avenue, came to that 
“romance in stone and lime,” the home in which 
the “Wizard of the North” passed his declining 
years. The transformation of the erstwhile 
“Clarty Hole” into the present strikingly beauti¬ 
ful domain almost merits the title of a new crea¬ 
tion. 

As we stand at the window of Sir Walter’s 
study and look out upon the pleasant little river 
and the pretty lawns and the stately trees, many 
of them planted by the author's own hands, we 
feel that this was the ideal home for the eminent 
romancer, and that it is from just such a spot we 
should expect those great creations of his imagi¬ 
nation to issue. 

The name he gave his estate is characteristic 
of the man. He loved to connect himself, as far 
as possible, with the times and scenes and person¬ 
ages that filled his brain and stirred his imagina¬ 
tion ; with the days when the ancient Cistercian 
abbots and monks forded the Tweed. 

In the study itself, one has the feeling that the 
house is still occupied by the great novelist, as 
if he had gone for a walk and was due to return 


IN SCOTLAND 


143 


at any time. All is in perfect order, his old writ¬ 
ing table, the plain leathern armchair in its ac¬ 
customed place, the books neatly arranged on the 
shelves in their proper position, and the little 
step-ladder by which he reached the topmost. The 
house is full of relics of the “auld lang syne,” on 
which the great man loved to dwell. Worthy of 
special note, too, are the drawing-room in which 
the author died, the little dressing-room, and the 
armory, with its fine collection of Scotch wea¬ 
pons. 


XXI 


OFF TO ALBION 

Over the River Esk sped the travelers from 
Liddesdale, of which the poet sings: “March, 
march, Eskdale and Liddesdale. All the bine bon¬ 
nets are over the borderpast Ecclefechan, the 
birthplace and burial place of Carlyle, over the 
famous Borderland whose possession was so 
stoutly contested for ages by Scotch and English; 
by Carlyle, another of Mary Stuart’s many 
prisons, and finally on to the charming cathedral 
town of Chester. 

As the pair wandered about its narrow, 
crooked, ill-lighted streets by night, Father Caha- 
lan said it reminded him strongly of Mrs. Gas- 
kell’s “Cranford.” Certainly Chester has a 
charm all its own. To the lover of the antique, 
it is a spot where one loves to linger, and which 
he leaves with regret. 

There is only one Chester, and the tourist will 
seek far and wide and in vain throughout the 
island for its equal among the picturesque. Its 
situation and peculiar construction make of it a 
city unique, sui generis . Here at least, time has 
not wiped out the traces of the old Roman occu- 

144 


OFF TO ALBION 


145 


pation. The statue of Minerva in Edgar’s Field, 
the walls still standing and wide enough for two 
persons to walk abreast, the main street hollowed 
out of the sandstone by the Roman engineers, 
are all striking reminders of the days of the 
Caesars. 

And along with the Roman ruins went Roman 
valor, likewise. Chester has always been a fight¬ 
ing town and its people ever brave, sturdy, in¬ 
domitable, quick to resist interference and equal¬ 
ly quick to take up any cause that approved 
itself to them. 

It was the last place in all Britain to hold out 
against the Conqueror, the first to declare for 
Charles, the last to yield to the Parliamentary 
army. William the Conqueror was never really 
conqueror, or king, till he had taken Chester, and 
even after he had taken it, he realized that its 
people were not to be trifled with, that in dealing 
with them his best policy was to win them by 
kindness rather than attempt to subdue them by 
force. So, to ingratiate himself with them, he 
made his own nephew Earl of Chester, and since 
the time of Henry III, it has been the custom of 
the English sovereigns to confer on the eldest 
son and heir, along with the title of Prince of 
Wales, that of Earl of Chester. 

Down to the reign of that same Henry, the city 


146 


FATHER BILLY 


even enjoyed a degree of independence, its earls 
keeping their own courts and parliaments, 

A curious feature of the town, one perhaps 
seen nowhere else in the modern world, is the 
peculiar arrangement known as “the Rows.” It 
is difficult to give a satisfactory idea of what 
they look like to one who has never seen any¬ 
thing on that order. 

Briefly, they are covered avenues or galleries, 
on a level with the second stories of the houses 
in the old Roman thoroughfares of Eastgate, 
Northgate, Watergate, etc. Running back as far 
as sixteen feet, they form a continuous paved 
promenade open in front with pillars, steps lead¬ 
ing up from the streets. 

Some of the “Rows” are double terraces with 
the shops one above another, or with private 
dwellings above and shops below and within. 
This curious arrangement seems to be essentially 
Roman and is described by Plautus in one of his 
plays. 

***** 


“How cold all these Anglican places of wor¬ 
ship are!” remarked Father Cahalan, as they 
were inspecting the cathedral. “Beautiful enough 
outside, but cheerless within.” 

“Aye,” answered Father Billy. “What else 
could ye expect of a corpse the soul has left? 


OFF TO ALBION 


147 


God has gone out o’ thim, an’ they have no mean¬ 
ing now. Ye can’t have a genuine cathedral 
without the Blessed Sacrament, and the old, gen¬ 
uine Catholic worship.” 

“Yes, that’s the explanation,” agreed Cahalan. 
“In the old days when they were in fact as well 
as in name the real temples of the living God, 
when His ministers poured forth daily the fitting 
prayers of the Church and offered the one great 
sacrifice, a cathedral meant something. Outside 
and inside, building and worship were all in 
harmony. But a Protestant cathedral is a mis¬ 
nomer. It’s a shell without a kernel, a shadow 
without a substance, a tree without sap, a house 
without a tenant.” 

“How sad it is,” continued Father Billy, “to 
see the magnificent Westminster Abbey reduced 
to a graveyard for England’s heroes, her soldiers 
and statesmin and literary min!” 

From Chester the two old clerical cronies jour¬ 
neyed to the charming, old-world town of Strat¬ 
ford to pay their devoirs to the birthplace and 
tomb of the Bard of Avon, and to Anne Hatha- 
away’s cottage at Shottery. To put the matter 
briefly, they were not a whit disappointed in what 
they had come to see. The eight-mile drive by 
coach over the highway to Warwick gave the pair 
real solid pleasure, affording as it did excellent 


148 


FATHER BILLY 


views of some of the finest typical English land¬ 
scapes. 

“What varying impressions one gets from the 
scenery of different countries,” remarked Father 
Cahalan. “About the Irish countryside there 
is an air of sadness, in spite of its great beauty. 
In Scotland, the impression is that of wild gran¬ 
deur, ruggedness and strength. Here in England 
all is neat, trim, smug, self-satisfied and pros¬ 
perous-looking.” 

“Aye, aye,” replied Father Billy, “just like 
John Bull himself.” 

As they were passing Charlecote Hall, whose 
one-time owner drove the young poacher to Lon¬ 
don—and to immortal fame—Billy said to his 
companion : “I wonder if the deer that are stalk¬ 
ing about in the park there are the descindants 
of those that timpted Shakespeare.” 

“Whether they are or not,” said Cahalan, “I 
think the sin was easily forgiven.” 

“Felix culpa,” muttered Billy. “If ould Squire 
Lucy had been annything of a prophet,” he con¬ 
tinued, “he might have been contint to lose the 
whole herd rather than have been made the 
laughing-stock of the world as Misther Justice 
Shallow.” 

In the coach with them were five or six girls 
from the States, chaperoned by a long-nosed, 
psyche-knotted school marm. They had been 



OFF TO ALBION 


149 


touring the Continent, and the spinster guide, 
who took great pride in her British ancestry, 
lost no opportunity of contrasting the squalor 
and beggary of Spain and Italy with the neat¬ 
ness and prosperity of her beloved Albion. 

At one of the points 
of this trip, a number of 
boys and girls followed 
the coach begging for 
pennies, and, to attract 
attention, they had re¬ 
course to highly amus¬ 
ing acrobatic antics, 
turning somersaults, 
and trying to stand on 
their heads in the middle 
of the road—in the most 
approved young Neapol¬ 
itan Lazzaroni style. 

Father Billv was seat- Chaperoned by a long- 
ed at the end of the ^ Psyche-knotted school 

vehicle nearest the road, 

and he immediately saw his chance to square 
matters with the fussy Anglo-pliile. Luckily for 
his plan, his pockets were well-stocked with small 
coins, and he kept dropping them slyly out of the 
coach as long as they lasted. And as long as 
they lasted, so long did the youngsters keep up 
their pranks, to the hilarious delight of all the 




150 


FATHER BILLY 


passengers—save one, the spinster lady who was 
so proud that the British boys and girls didn’t 
stoop to shameless beggary like their contempt¬ 
ible Latin cousins. And now the poor thing was 
so overwhelmed with shame and confusion that 
you couldn’t get another word out of her till the 
end of the journey. 

They stopped a few hours to visit Warwick 
Castle (and were much surprised that its owners 
should abandon this Paradise of a place to live 
in stuffy cities or crowded, frivolous watering- 
places) ; the ruins of Kenilworth, with its mem¬ 
ories of the “virgin queen,” Leicester, and Amy 
Robsart, and Guy’s Cliff. 

Especially impressed were they with the last- 
mentioned, because of the mediaeval legend of 
the earl from whom the cliff gets its name. The 
tradition is that Guy, Earl of Warwick, was 
head over ears in love with a haughty beauty 
who refused to wed him till he had distinguished 
himself by some marvelous deed of daring. So, 
with the Quixotic spirit of the day, he set out to 
perform some sort of Herculean feat. 

To make a long story short he performed a 
great many such, and at length hied himself 
back to Albion with all the scalps and trophies 
of war at his belt, and was accepted by the cruel 
fair one. 

Soon, however, he grew remorseful for all the 


OFF TO ALBION 


151 


blood he had shed, and, without a word of fare¬ 
well, left his dearly bought spouse and went on 
pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 

After some years he returned, in disguise, and 
led a hermit’s life on this cliff, utterly unknown 
and unrecognized. The lady-wife daily brought 
him food with her own hands, reverencing him 
as a holy man. 

When the end approached, he revealed his 
identity, and died in the arms of his wife, who 
soon followed him, and both were buried in the 
same tomb. 

“I suppose/’ observed Father Billy, “they 
didn’t care to let the Romans get ahead of thim 
with their story of St. Alexius, so they wint thim 
one betther.” 

To classic Oxford, foggy London, to hallowed 
Canterbury, then to the white chalk cliffs of 
Dover, to take the boat for Calais. 

As they bade adieu to merry England, Father 
Calialan remarked to his companion: “What an 
awful disappointment it must be to the tourist 
who has been wrestling for months with the 
Continental languages, and pining for the shores 
of Britain where he can at last hear his mother 
tongue in all its freshness and purity, to find 
that it is as often as hard to understand, and be 
understood, there as it was in Italy or France! 

“I have heard groups of Britishers in con- 


152 


FATHER BILLY 


versation, especially in Lancashire and York¬ 
shire, and I declare to goodness, if my soul’s 
salvation depended on it, I couldn’t make out 
what they were talking about.” 

“Aye, right ye are,” agreed Billy, “and it 
isn’t confined altogether to the ignorant or the 
illiterate ayther. I’ve found the same in w T ell- 
dressed, prosperous-looking min and women of 
the middle class, in the thrams and the rail¬ 
way cars. They have such a habit of running 
th’ end of wan word into the beginning of th’ 
other and sawing off half the syllables that anny 
wan but thimselves would need an interpreter 
to make out their maning at all. What could 
ye expect annyhow from min who’ll spell a name 
Colcolough and call it Coakley? What makes 
thim put twice as manny letthers in it as they’ve 
inergy to pronounce?” 

“I recall the opinion of a cultured English 
traveler on this matter,” continued Cahalan. 
“Writing many years ago, when America was 
still in its swaddling clothes, he remarked that, 
however they came by the gift, our people spoke 
a better and purer English than his own coun¬ 
trymen.” 

“Yis, I’ve read that same meself,” said Billy. 
“The writer’s name was Waterton, wasn’t it? 
And he might have added that there are no more 
notorious murdherers of the English language 


OFF TO ALBION 


153 


to be found in the wide world than th’ English 
thimselyes. I’d prefer Sandy to John Bull anny 

day.” 


XXII 


ROSIE GETS A LETTER FROM ABROAD 

Gibraltar, September 20, 19— 

My Dear Rosie: 

You’ll have heard a good deal of our Irish 
and English trips from Father Cahalan’s let¬ 
ters. As you know, lie’s much better at the 
writing than myself; he likes it and I don’t. 
But if I’m not strong at the letters I’m strong 
at the talk, and I’ll keep the best of it till I 
get home. 

I won’t go into details about all the beautiful 
and historic places and things we saw. You 
can get enough of that from the guide books in 
my library, and better than I could tell you. 
If you want to follow our route you’ll find it 
all on the maps. 

After a week of Paris we went on through 
Belgium and Holland into Germany where we 
took the Rhine trip, and stopped at Cologne, 
Heidelberg and Strassbourg. I’m sorry to say, 
I wasn’t proud of many of my countrymen who 
are gallavanting through Europe. They don’t 
do us much credit with their ignorance and 

154 


ROSIE GETS A LETTER 


155 


arrogance. Most of them have more money than 
sense. Their manners are far below those of 
the people they go amongst. Aye, and of the 
servants who wait on them. Lots of them strut 
about and give orders as though they were dukes 
and princes, and often I’ve seen the waiters bow 
to their faces and smile behind their backs. 

When we landed from the trip on the Rhine 
there were two of them walking ahead of Cahalan 
and myself, and what does one of them do but 
walk up to a big German policeman and ask 
him: “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” “Did he speak his 
own language?” Imagine a Dutch green-horn, 
just landed, asking a New York peeler if he could 
speak English! 

Next we took ourselves and our belongings to 
Switzerland, where we made short stops at 
Lucerne and Lugano. Then over beautiful Lakes 
Lugano and Gomo, with the waters sparkling 
like silver and many-colored jewels in the sun¬ 
light—to Milan, for a visit to the magnificent 
Cathedral and the tomb of St. Charles Borromeo. 

Venice and Lido held us four days, and we 
made for Florence, where I hope, with God’s 
help, to spend my closing days—“ lung’ Arno ” 
as the Florentines say. It has more charm for 
me than any other city I have seen so far. 

Unfortunately, we could give but a week to 
Rome, and that’s scarcely enough to skim the 


156 


FATHER BILLY 


surface. Our first call, as good Catholics of 
course, was to St. Peter’s. I must say that, at 
first sight, the world’s biggest and greatest place 
of worship is somewhat of a disappointment. 
It doesn’t seem as large as we were used to 
picture it. But the longer one stays and the 
oftener one visits it, and the more fully he grows 
acquainted with it, the more its greatness and 
immensity impresses him. 

The chief reason, perhaps, why it doesn’t at 
first glance come up to expectations, is that 
everything is in such perfect proportion that its 
dimensions are misleading. Take, for instance, 
the letters of the “Tu es Petrus, etc/’ Looked 
at from below, one would say they might be a 
foot or so in height. The truth is, they are as 
much as six feet high. And so with all the rest. 
We took a walk around the Basilica, and the 
length of that walk gave us some notion of the 
vastness of St. Peter’s. 

Cahalan induced me to travel up to the dome— 
the Lord forgive him—and between the heat and 
the height and the lop-sided walking I had to 
do, I wasn’t a bit of good for the rest of the 
day. But at that, I must say the sight was 
worth the cost. 

Monsignor Bisleti got an audience for us the 
day after we arrived. I was struck w r itli the 
very great difference, both in appearance and 



ROSIE GETS A LETTER 


157 


manner, between Pope Leo, whom I saw once, 
and the present Pontiff. 

Leo was always the great noble, stately, im¬ 
pressive, a stickler for etiquette, carrying him¬ 
self like a prince. Then, too, he was so fragile- 
looking, ascetic, with the color of a marble statue 
and a voice like a boom. Pius the Tenth, on 
the other hand, in looks and carriage, is a typi¬ 
cal old pastor—simple, kindly, benevolent, with 
the goodness and the piety beaming out of his 
face. It is easy to see that he doesn’t care for 
ceremony or pomp, and, moreover, that he isn’t 
at all fond of his job. He has the look of a 
man tired and sad; who had a good home and 
had to leave it. Any one can see that he’d rather 
be back in Venice pottering about, if it were left 
to himself. 

One goes away from the audience more im¬ 
pressed with this old man’s simplicity and saint¬ 
liness than with all the stateliness and intel¬ 
lectuality of the great Leo. You find no reason 
cO doubt that Pius has no other thought or am¬ 
bition in life than “to restore all things in Christ.” 
He is truly a genuine “soggarth aroon” and the 
greatest of them all. 

You’ll hardly believe Father Cahalan played 
the prank I’m going to tell you of, but he did. 
One morning the two of us went to one of Rome’s 
many churches to say Mass. We tried to carry 


158 


FATHER BILLY 


the thing off masterfully, but the old sexton de¬ 
murred to our saying Mass there without the 
necessary permit, which we had neglected to se¬ 
cure. When, lo and behold ye, Cahalan spied 
the portrait of Cardinal Bourne on the sacristy 
wall, and immediately realized that it was the 
English Cardinal’s titular church. At once, 
assuming an air of offended dignity, he pointed 
to the photo, and roundly rated the sexton for 
such a want of courtesy to the Cardinal’s secre¬ 
tary—meaning himself, if you please. 

I never thought Cahalan could carry a thing 
off so well; he almost fooled myself. The next 
thing we knew, the old man was muttering and 
gesticulating the most abject apologies. He set 
out the best vestments he had in stock, with 
episcopal alb, lighted four candles, and danced 
attendance on Cahalan as if he were the Car¬ 
dinal himself. And, if you please, I had to serve 
the Mass of His Eminence’s Secretary! 

When his Mass was finished, the sexton put 
out the Cardinal’s prie-dieu for the great dig¬ 
nitary’s thanksgiving, and I started to put on 
the vestments Cahalan had taken off. But the 
old man hastily grabbed them away from me, and 
made me say my Mass with very ordinary trap¬ 
pings. The purple and fine linen were only for 
the great officials like Cahalan! 


ROSIE GETS A LETTER 


159 


Next to Pope Pius, tlie most impressive and 
saintly man I met in my travels was the Abbot 
Boniface Krug, of Monte Cassino. He is an 
American, a native of Baltimore, and the first 
chosen from the western world to succeed St. 
Benedict in the lofty mountain abbey. 

Our next stop 
was Naples. They 
have a saying, 

“See Naples and 
die.” Well, we 
have seen Naples 
and we no more 
want to die now 
than we did be¬ 
fore we ever laid 
eyes on it. We got 
a great deal of 
annoyance from 
the beggars, laz- 
zaroni they call 
them, whom one 
meets a t every 
turn, young beggars and old beggars, male and 
female. They seem to think the Americanos are 
made of money. But there are many compensa¬ 
tions in the beauties and history of the city and 
its environs, and plenty of fun, too. 

Some of the fun is furnished by the natives. 



We got a great deal of annoyance 
from the beggars 






















160 


FATHER BILLY 


especially the crews of the tenders that bring 
the passengers from the big liners to the wharf. 
Cutting up all sorts of capers and monkeyshines 
and singing, “happy, happy, liappyhoojah,” or 
something of the sort, to draw the coins from the 
pockets of the good-natured Americanos. 

And, oh, the attention they give you when you 
land! Dozens of them swarming around you 
waiting to do your bidding, snatching your grips 
from you and almost tearing the clothes from 
your back. ’Tis enough to make St. Peter him¬ 
self swear. 

And then you’ll hear a parcel of wild Indian 

countrymen of our own yelling at the top of their 

voices as they go along in the cab: “We’re here 

because we’re here, because we’re here,” or some 

such crazy stuff. Is it any wonder the people 

of Europe think we’re but half civilized? 

***** 

I can’t describe to you the feeling of awe that 
comes over one tramping through the deserted 
streets of Pompeii, the city of the dead; listening 
to the echoes of your own footsteps on the stones, 
and thinking of the frightful things that hap¬ 
pened there so many years ago. 

Then w r e w T ent on to something more cheerful, 
to lovely Sorrento and Amalfi. I must say the 
people of Sorrento seem to be on very familiar 
terms with the Lord. We were there for Mass on 


ROSIE GETS A LETTER 


161 


a Sunday and a great many of the worshippers 
were dressed as if they were going to work or 
to the market instead of to church—women 
with no excuse for head covering, men bare¬ 
footed and shirt-sleeved. 

But when I thought it all over, I found it 
rather a reason for rejoicing than dismay. To 
begin with, the people were there, and that’s a 
great thing. The church was crowded. No doubt 
lots of them were too poor to be dressed other 
than they were, and they didn’t make their want 
of clothes an excuse to stay away from Mass, as 
so many of our own people do. And as to their 
greater freedom in church, I believe it’s because 
they realize that God is their Father and the 
church His House, and feel that their Father 
won’t take offence at them for being at home 
there. 

***** 


From Naples we went to Gibraltar, then by 
boat to Algeciras where we took the train for 
Seville. Thence to Cordova, Madrid, Granada, 
and back to Gibraltar where we are now waiting 
for the steamer to take us home. 

Of all the countries I’ve visited since leaving 
the U. S. A., Spain is, by all odds, the most 
unique. In many respects the others are much 
like what we have at home, mountains, lakes, 


162 


FATHER BILLY 


rivers, valleys, etc. The truth is we have far bet¬ 
ter at home if we only had sense to see it. If 
they have their Alps, we have our Rockies. If 
Europe has its Como and Maggiore, and Lugano, 
and Katrine and Lomond, we also have our 
Lake George, and Puget Sound, and the beauti¬ 
ful lakes of California. In fact the state of 
California combines within itself all the best 
features of European scenery. And they have no 
grand canons such as we have. True they have 
their historical associations, which we haven’t, 
at least to the same extent, and that gives them 
a great advantage, we must admit. 

But anyhow, Spain is different from the others, 
especially southern Spain, or Andalusia. The 
Moors, who lorded over it for eight centuries, 
have left an impress on this part of the country 
which still remains, in their castles and mosques, 
and in the character of the people as well. Here 
Europe and Africa join, and one has the feeling 
of being in a very old world which is entirely 
a new world to himself. 

I believe this is the longest letter I ever wrote, 
and I can’t keep it up much longer. Cahalan is 
writing to Father James, and has agreed to take 
things up where I leave off. Show my scrawl to 
Father James, and let him show Cahalan’s to 
you, and then you’ll both have a complete history 


ROSIE GETS A LETTER 


163 


which will add something to the very little stock 
of knowledge the two of ye have. 

Yonr affectionate brother, 


William. 


XXIII 


FATHER CAHALAN TO FATHER JAMES FLYNN 

At Gibraltar, September 20. 


Dear Jim : 

As a result of our rather long trip, Billy and 
myself have reached a number of agreements and 
disagreements. But on one thing at least we are 
both in hearty accord, and that is, the bad man¬ 
ners of the bulk of American tourists in Europe. 

Most of them are so completely wrapped up in 
themselves and their fool notions of superiority 
in morals, institutions, inventions, climate, busi¬ 
ness, everything in short, that they carry them¬ 
selves like lords of creation, and have nothing 
but contempt for the rest of the world. 

“We are the people and whatever we have is 
best, is the only thing worth having. All the 
nations of Europe are old fossils, mossbacks, 
antediluvians, with their effete monarchies and 
their out-of-date civilization. If they would only 
have the sense to copy us, they might amount 
to something.” 

That’s the way most of them think. And if 
they confined themselves to the thinking, it would 

164 


CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


165 


be bad enough. But they don’t, unfortunately; 
they act it as well. No doubt they consider their 
silly arrogance and spread-eagleism very impres¬ 
sive, and apt to inspire the benighted European 
with awe and respect. As a matter of fact, and 
as you well know, all the effect it has is to confirm 
the cultured Europeans in their belief that we are 
a nation of vulgar, conceited, ignorant upstarts. 
The dunder-lieaded American snob has made him¬ 
self the laughing stock of Europe. 

As soon as the tourist season is in full swing, 
small armies of Americanos and Americanas, 
well-thumbed Baedekers in hand, are familiar 
and easily recognized figures in the streets, the 
art galleries, and other noted buildings of every 
big city of Europe. Troops of our well-fed, pros¬ 
perous-looking compatriots may be seen day after 
day losing their time in gazing upon the works 
of the old masters, and the grand old historic 
piles, with as much nonchalance as if they were 
inspecting a leg of mutton in the market, and 
with far less intelligence. 

This, of course, is not a crime. It is a fault of 
the head rather than the heart, and they are more 
to be pitied than blamed for it. The real fault, 
and one for which they are responsible, is their 
exhibition of ill-mannered, coarse-grained con¬ 
duct, their arrogant airs, their contempt for 
antiquity and scorn for tradition, all of which 


166 


FATHER BILLY 


make the ill-bred, purse-proud American traveler 
not only an object of ridicule to discerning Euro¬ 
peans, but likewise a thorn in the side of his own 
decent countrymen, who have to bear the blame 
equally with the guilty ones. 

For tourists, in a way, carry about with them 
the fair name of their country, and a country is 
generally judged by the specimens with which 
people come in contact. God knows the upstarts 
of whom I write don’t deserve the title of repre¬ 
sentative Americans, but unhappily they are the 
only samples ever seen by many Europeans, and 
consequently the only types on which they can 
base an estimate of us. We can hardlv blame 
them. Our own people take first prize for gen¬ 
eralizing from insufficient data. We are the 
greatest living exponents of the db uno disce 
o runes.” 


* # * * 48 - 


Well, now that I’ve got that out of my system, 
I feel much better, and more in the humor of 
telling you what we’ve been seeing. Billy, in his 
usual masterful way, took nearly the whole of 
Europe for himself, leaving me the single prov¬ 
ince of Spain; yet he almost swears he hates 
letter writing. While he was inditing his epistle 
to Rosie, I noticed something stealthy about him, 
casting sheep’s eyes at me every once in a while, 


CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


167 


as if he feared I’d look at his letter. I feel in 
my bones that he put in some nonsense about 
yours truly. 

Spain, or the part of Spain that I’ve seen, suits 
me to a T, and suits me for the very reason why 
it wouldn’t suit you: Its comparative freedom 
from your eternally vaunted modern progress. 
Its freedom from the hellish racket and smoke 
of our factories and other big industrial plants; 
its freedom from the rush and roar and the nerv¬ 
ous strains that are making us a nation of neu¬ 
rasthenics, and turning life into a nightmare. 

The average Spaniard knows how to enjoy life, 
to get all the savor out of it, like one draining 
a delicious draft, or the last drop of juice from a 
luscious fruit. No rush. Poco tiempo. What’s 
the use of breaking one’s neck about it? The 
country is hot enough without getting over¬ 
heated. If we don’t get there today, we may 
arrive tomorrow. 

Some of the streets are so narrow that two 
cabs can not pass each other. If one driver 
turns into such a thoroughfare and spies another 
already in possession, does he fume and fret and 
swear, as an American would likely do? Not a 
bit of it. He just backs out and waits till the 
other fellow leaves the way clear. Practical phil¬ 
osophers. 

The little toy train that carried us from Alge- 


168 


FATHER BILLY 


ciras to Seville made the trip in about eight 
hours. The New York Central might have made 
it in two. If you complain, they will probably 
tell you that their railroads were not built for 
tourists in a hurry, but for the benefit of the 
people. And by the way, the many and extreme 
precautions taken by the Spanish railroad offi¬ 
cials to avert accidents would be an excellent 
object lesson for their American brothers. 

And then, there are so very many compensa¬ 
tions to make the slow journey worth while. The 
quaint, white-washed, old-fashioned, other-world 
towns and villages, the most conspicuous build¬ 
ing always the church topped by the emblem of 
the Redemption, the numerous goats, which sup¬ 
ply most of the milk used in the country, brows¬ 
ing on the mountain sides; likewise the bulls 
which soon or late will be slaughtered in the 
arena. 

The Andalusian, like the other Latin peoples, 
is essentially a social animal. Unlike the Anglo- 
Saxon, he does not build his house or castle in an 
isolated spot, but lives in villages, and goes 
thence to work on his farm. For the most part, 
the farmers still use the old primitive methods 
of farming and threshing, with horses or mules 
to thresh out the grain. 

There is one thing here I would like to see cor¬ 
rected, the treeless condition of so much of south- 


CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


169 


ern Spain. We miss the green forests. The lack 
of trees is certainly not due to a lack of fecundity 
in the soil. The state of the crops, the oleander, 
the olive and fig, the lemon and orange groves 
abounding everywhere, are sufficient proof of 
that. It is due to sheer past carelessness and 
improvidence. Not only does the absence of the 
trees detract from the beauty of the landscape, 
but, worse far, it impairs the fertility of the soil, 
and lays the country open to devastating floods. 
Would that Spain might take a lesson from the 
Germans in the matter of forest conservation! 

As the train creeps along, its shrill, piercing, 
melancholy-sounding whistle echoing and re¬ 
echoing through the hills, we get thirsty, but 
there is nothing to drink on the train. At every 
stop, however, there are women and boys selling 
water for a trifle. “Agua, fresca ” they call in 
thin, piping, droning tones like the buzzing of 
flies on a summer day. It sounds strange, but 
good wine is much cheaper and more abundant 
than water in this land. One is not required to 
pay anything extra for the wine served at meals. 
It is put on the table as part of the menu and, 
take it or leave it, your bill is the same. 

I’ve not seen a dairy or a milk wagon here yet; 
the goats are the dairies. In the early morning 
the women drive them into the town, and the milk 
is served for the breakfast just fresh from the 


170 


FATHEK BILLY 


source. There is no chance for adulteration. The 
buyer holds out his cup, and the goat is milked 
on the spot. 



Milk is served for the breakfast just fresh 
from the source. 


Another animal which enters largely into the 
life of the Spanish people, is the lowly ass. While 
the goat is the dairy, the ass is the public market. 
Numbers of him are driven into town with hang¬ 
ing-baskets on either side, loaded down with the 
products of the farm, and made to stand for the 
better part of a day in the same position. And 
he does it, the poor patient thing, without any 
expression of dissatisfaction. 

What do you think of this? One of the very 
first things to catch our eyes when we arrived 
in old Seville was a street sign reading “Calle 
O’Donnell.” “Begorry,” said Billy, “it looks 



CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


171 


like it’s back in Ireland we are, instead of Spain.” 

I can’t make out, for the life of me, why the 
people here, in such a hot climate, eat such 
strong foods and drink such strong drinks. Not 
that they either overeat or overdrink, but they 
are so everlastingly fond of highly spiced ragouts, 
full of pepper and grease. And it seems to be 
just the same in all the other hot lands, at least 
where the descendants of the Spaniard abound. 

In our hotel, in Madrid, both of us were in a 
pretty pickle. Some of the articles on the bill- 
of-fare we had never seen or heard of. And, 
even if we had, it wouldn’t have done us much 
good; for the menu was not only in Spanish, as 
was natural, but we couldn’t even make out the 
script. It might have been Sanscrit as far as 
we were concerned. So we took our lives in our 
hands and pointed here and there haphazard. 

Bull meat is plentiful here, and cow meat 
scarce. If you call for beef, they’ll give you 
“vitello,” or young bull. Whether it’s bull spe¬ 
cially raised for table purposes, or the bulls 
slaughtered in the bull fights, I can’t say. I 
judge the latter; and, if so, it’s certainly a 
great economy—killing two birds with one stone, 
with a vengeance. Most of the people who do 
anything for you here are graduates of the col¬ 
lege of grafting, and the sextons or sacristans, 
and church hirelings generally, must have taken 


172 


FATHER BILLY 


their degree summa cum laude. They have their 
hands out at every turn. In the Church of San 
Francisco el Grande, in Madrid, one of them 
showed us part of the treasures after we had 
given him a good tip. But shortly he turned us 
over to another to finish the job, evidently to let 
him in on the graft. It didn’t work though. 
When the second one had finished his stunt, 
Billy winked at me, and said to the fellow, 
“Gratia.” 

Then we walked on, the cicerone following, 
spitting out, “Gratia, gratia,” with utmost con¬ 
tempt, till we were out of hearing, ourselves 
nigh to choking from the restrained mirth. 

Spain, more so than southern Italy, is the 
land of “dolce far niente,” the land of go as you 
please. The people take life as it comes. If, 
as often happens, they spy a cow or a goat lying 
across the pavement, basking in the sunshine, 
they don’t kick it or disturb it in the least, but 
kindly step across, or go around it, so as not to 
interfere with the poor thing’s slumbers. 

In the churches we have visited here, during 
services, I am mighty glad to say the number 
of worshippers was every whit as large as one 
would see in the big churches of our own cities, 
and the people were just as devout. I know 
this is not the impression made on most tourists, 
for the very simple reason that they don’t go as 


CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


173 


a rule where the people go. Their visits are 
generally confined to show places — the grand 
cathedrals—and even in these they fail to observe 
that there are groups of the faithful at all the 
side altars, or chapels, where Mass is going on 
from early morning to noon. But the main point 
is that few of them ever go to the parish churches 
at all, and consequently come away with an en¬ 
tirely false impression of the attendance through¬ 
out Latin Europe. 

What I say of Spain applies with equal truth 
to France and Italy. We made it a point to 
distribute our attentions very liberally, and as a 
result, we are convinced that Latin Catholicity 
is not, by any manner of means, going to the 
demnition bow-wows. 

And the women in Spain certainly don’t go 
to Mass to show off their hats. They are dressed 
as women should be dressed in church. All alike, 
high and low, rich and poor, wear the mantilla, 
and it is quite becoming. Each one, of course, 
has her own style of adjusting it; but, however 
it is put on, it always seems just the right thing, 
and in the right place. And, I might add, the 
women throughout this country, whether of low 
or high degree, whether their clothes are rich or 
shabby, always seem tastefully dressed. They 
have a native, instinctive taste in the matter. 
The farmer’s wife, as well as the grandee’s lady, 


174 


FATHER BILLY 


knows perfectly well how to wear to advantage 
whatever she has, expensive or inexpensive. 

On the eve of Sts. Peter and Paul, the patronal 
feast of the Cathedral of Seville, we happened 
in on a fiesta in the public plaza, and we were 
struck with the natural, easy grace of the danc¬ 
ers, especially the children. Graceful movement 
seems to come to them without effort. And the 
only music they had was the rhythm of the 
castanets which they rattled in their hands while 
dancing. 

On the feast itself, we attended Mass at the 
Cathedral, and saw the unique spectacle of boys 
dancing during part of the service—an ancient 
custom of the place. 

Madrid is a fine, up-to-date city, with magnifi¬ 
cent public buildings and private residences; and 
I’m happy to say, it’s kept scrupulously clean. 
Here, on the outskirts, at the Plaza de Toros, 
we saw a bull fight—and on a Sunday afternoon! 
Six bulls were killed, and a number of horses. 
We hadn’t much sympathy for either the torea¬ 
dors or the bulls; they’re pretty well matched. 
But our hearts went out to the poor horses. 
They are cruelly mistreated and haven’t even a 
fighting chance. 

Here, too, we saw the young King Alphonso. 
He isn’t at all the gross caricature our papers 
so often make him out to be, but a fine, up- 



CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


175 


standing, courteous, graceful youth, the idol of 
his people. Even his political enemies respect 
and admire his courage and level-headedness. 
The truth is, he has more sense and nerve than 
any other ruler of today in Europe or America. 

It is an indiscreet and a dangerous thing to 
take it for granted that the foreign-looking per¬ 
son sitting beside you doesn’t understand your 
native lingo. The night Billy and I traveled 
from Madrid to Granada we couldn’t get a wagon- 
lit, or sleeper; so we had to sit in a compart¬ 
ment the livelong night. A Spanish-looking man 
w T as on the seat with me, and, in settling himself 
to sleep, he took up more than his own share of 
the seat, forcing me to huddle up in the corner. 
Said I to Billy: “This fellow’s a hog.” What 
was my surprise w T hen, toward morning, Billy 
and myself were discussing the matter of hotels, 
to hear this fellow butting in on our talk, in 
very good English. He had been in the United 
States some years. 

And, by the way, apropos of the same matter, 
going from Florence to Rome, there were two 
elderly men near us; likewise two ladies. One 
of the men was about the ugliest I’ve ever seen. 
It was hard to say where he first saw the light. 
He might have been a reincarnation of Attila, 
king of the Huns. The women very imprudently 
kept up a low, running commentary on the poor 


176 


FATHER BILLY 


man’s probable nationality. (They were clearly 
unconventional American dames.) Said one: “I 
think he’s a Hungarian.” The other answered: 
“Looks to me like a Turk.” 

“Well, I give it up,” said the first speaker. 
“Anyhow, he’s the ugliest man I ever laid eyes 
on.” 

That was the last straw. The ugly man could 
stand it no longer. Turning to his companion, 
he said quite audibly, and in perfect United 
States: “I believe our American tourists are the 
most uncouth and unmannerly people in all God’s 
world.” (Curtain drops.) 

I’ve often wondered, on this trip, why it is 
that some of our compatriots leave home at all, 
considering the little good it does them. Take 
this as an instance. Going through the Alps, the 
guide or conductor of a Cook’s touring party 
said to us: “Did you ever see the likes of those 
fool women there, playing bridge while crossing 
the Alps? Couldn’t they have done that at home 
just as well?” 

Well, here we are, in stuffy, ill-smelling, mix- 
tum-gatherum Gibraltar. It is twenty-two o’clock 
(what think you of that? That’s the way they 
count here) and we are waiting impatiently for 
the steamer to take us out of the consarned hole. 
The scenery is O. K.—even sublime; but the town 
isn’t. 


CAHALAN TO FLYNN 


177 


To show you how small the world is, after alJ, 
we went down to the pier to meet an incoming 

liner, and who should get off it but Mr. C-, 

who was consul at Messina, and has just been 
transferred to Malaga, and is on his way to his 

new post; and Father G-, who is on his way 

back to Canada, after spending the summer at 
the Sulpician house in Rome. 

No more till we meet. Kind regards to all. 

Yours, as usual, 


Cahalan. 




XXIV 

HOMEWARD BOUND 

The incidents and observations here set down 
were told by Billy and Cahalan to their many 
friends, on their arrival in the old home town. 

One of the most pleasing events of the home¬ 
ward journey and, for that matter, one of the 
best of the whole tour, was the sighting of the 
Azores. Pico, with its tall peak rising above 
the clouds, and Fayal, and the Flores; and, best 
of all, San Jorge, of which we had an excellent 
view, as we came within half a mile of it to 
deliver the mails. 

The postal officials were on the lookout and, 
when the steamer drew near, they sent out a 
small boat. The steamer folks then put the mails 
in a barrel, which they cast adrift; the boatmen 
secured the barrel and made their way back to 
the island. 

So close were we that we could see plainly 
the white houses and farms and public buildings, 
and the people on the shore. It was a sight we 
shall never forget—a truly lovely scene beyond 
the power of words to describe. It is one of those 
ravishing views which, to be properly appre- 

178 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


179 


ciated, needs to be seen. Were there nothing else 
of interest on the trip, this alone would be well 
worth crossing the Atlantic to see. 

The beautiful green mountain island, with its 
tall cliffs rising abruptly out of the sea, its well- 
tilled fields, its clean-looking white houses, and 
fine churches, with a gorgeous sunset to illumine 
it all, and, later, the pale rays of the full moon 
lighting up the pretty, peaceful landscape—it all 
makes a panorama well nigh unsurpassed and 
unsurpassable. 

For the remainder of the trip we had to con¬ 
tent ourselves with watching the steerage pas¬ 
sengers and talking of our various experiences, 
as there was nothing of any great note after 
leaving the Azores. 

The steerage folks were, for the most part, 
Italians returning to the land of their adoption, 
after a visit to the land of their birth. To us 
they seemed to be packed in like a lot of cattle, 
and fed like cattle, too, on a sort of hodge-podge, 
or vegetable soup, probably the leaving from 
the first and second cabin tables. At meal time, 
each would get a kettle or tin can of this soup, 
or hash, or stew—whichever it was—and a chunk 
of bread. Their meals never seem to vary, and 
they didn’t appear to get too much either. Yet 
they were, to all appearances, happy enough, and 
getting more real pleasure out of the voyage 



180 


FATHER BILLY 


than those who were reveling in luxury. And, 
by the way, many of them, no doubt, had more 
money (if they didn’t leave it all behind them in 
Italy) than some of the first-class passengers; 
certainly more than we had. 

They conducted themselves pretty much as 
though they were in sunny Italy, or in the back¬ 
yards of one of the Little Italies of the great 
American cities, free and easy, with an utter 
indifference to the conventionalities, and entirely 
oblivious of the gazes of the other passengers 
who gathered to look at them, pretty much as 
they would look at the animals in the zoo. There 
was little or no evidence of super-sensitiveness 
about these people, and it is well for them that 
they are so constituted. The men amused them¬ 
selves the greater part of the day playing “lotto,” 
perhaps enriched themselves, too. 

* * * * * 

Some time after their return—the following 
winter it was—both Fathers Billy and Cahalan 
gave a series of illustrated travelogues in their 
respective parishes; it is from those talks that 
my accounts of their travels are taken. 

It goes without saying, however, that my cold, 
printed pages will convey a very faint idea, if 
any, of the interest and pleasure which the 
speakers themselves aroused in their large audi- 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


181 


ences. To begin with, I failed to take notes and 
am therefore forced to rely on my memory. In 
the second place, I am minus the illustrations 
which the travelers had thrown on the screen, 
photos of interesting characters they met here 
and there; pictures of Erin’s thatched cottages, 
ancient ruins, handsome castles like Shelton Ab¬ 
bey and Castle Howard, of Killarney’s lakes and 
hills, etc.; of the grand cathedrals of Continental 
Europe, and England, the Rhine castles, and 
others galore. Lastly and chiefly, even if I had 
all the foregoing—audiences included—I haven’t, 
and never can have, Billy’s inimitable way of 
putting things. As a story teller, he towered 
head and shoulders over every other man of my 
acquaintance. 

There is one talk though—the closing one— 
which I have in full, and that I shall give you 
herewith just as it was taken down by my volun¬ 
teer stenographer. 



XXV 


THE LAST TRAVELOGUE 

“Whin a man thries to describe things he 
doesn’t undherstand, it’s only natural he should 
blundher, even when he manes to be fair. An’ 
that’s the way it is with manny who thravel 
through Europe, especially the so-called Latin 
lands. 

“Some of thim are full up to the neck of on- 
reasoning prejudices, and it’s not the thruth 
they’re looking for, but a confirmation of their 
own false notions. The upshot is that, whin 
they attimpt to write of Catholics and their 
worship and their habits and traditions, they’re 
often little short of vile slandherers. 

“The people of the Continent have a way of 
doing things that differs from ours, even in 
religious matthers. They’re ginerally freer and 
aisier, mostly because their religion is a sort 
of second nature with thim—part and parcel 
of thimselves. And the narrow-minded non- 
Catholic, who wants the breadth of view needed 
to pass a just judgment in such cases, and who 
has no sympathy with the people or their be¬ 
liefs or their ways, is apt to set this greater 

182 


THE LAST TRAVELOGUE 


183 


freedom and aisiness down to disrespect, or want 
of devotion and reverence. 

“Some will rave and rant about the extrava¬ 
gance of the Spaniards and Italians in building 
so manny and such costly churches, whin fewer 
and less pretintious ones would serve the purpose 
as well. They do that because they forget or 
ignore the fact that the Masther Himself is in 
our churches, and surely nothing we can do is 
too good for Him. 

“Thin again, they see armies of priests and 
monks on the sthreets, particularly in Rome, 
and they ask thimselves and wan another, why 
they don’t go to work and earn a decent living, 
instid of thramping about for their health or 
recreation, and living like parasites on the char¬ 
ity of the people. 

“They don’t know, of coorse, that these min 
work hard, and manny more hours at it than 
those who cinsure thim, some as scribes or secre¬ 
taries to the numerous congregations, for a wage 
that we would scarcely deign to look at. 

“I’m telling ye these things that ye may be 
able to give an answer to bigots of that sort 
whin ye meet thim, and that ye may set yere 
dissinting frinds right on these matthers. Let 
thim see that there are two sides to the mat- 
ther, and that ye have the right side. 

“Even the great Dickens failed to undher- 


184 


FATHER BILLY 


stand the people of Italy, and he’s wan we’d 
naturally expect more from. I doubt seriously 
if he ever raley thried to undherstand thim. 
Like every other Englishman he was convinced 
that whatever isn’t English is no good at all. 
Those of ye who have read him will remimber 
that he thrated America pretty much the same 
way in ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’ and the ‘American 
Notes.’ 

“The man with a bias is not a fit judge of 
other min. If annyone wants to know the thruth, 
he must put aside his prejudices, and look at 
other people through his own eyes. And a mere 
passing visit isn’t enough, by anny manes, 
even for a genius of the first wather to catch 
the spirit of a counthry. We have almighty con- 
timpt for Englishmin and Frinchmin who come 
over here, take a flying thrip along Broadway 
and Fifth Avenue, and thin go home and write 
a book about us. And yet we do the same thing 
ourselves—some of us at laste. We’re consated 
enough to think we can do what no Englishman 
or Frinchman can do. 

“To talk or write with thruth and justice of 
a people one has to live among thim, inter into 
their feelings, and thry to see things from their 
pint of view. In a word, he must have sym¬ 
pathy with thimselves and their ways and their 
institutions. There’s no airthly value in th’ 


THE LAST TRAVELOGUE 


185 


opinions of wan who makes himself and his 
ideals, or his counthry and its customs, the 
never-failing standard of excellence, and expects 
all the rest of the world to conform to it. 

***** 

“If there’s wan thing more than another that 
manny of thim blundher about, it’s the Catholic 
Church on the Continent—maning, as ye know, 
Italy, France and Spain. A hurried visit to a doz¬ 
en or so of the great cathedrals and other noted 
churches of these lands; St. Peter’s in Rome; The 
Duomo, in Florence; San Marco, in Venice; the 
Mezquita, of Cordova; Notre-Dame, in Paris; or 
the magnificent temples of Milan, Seville and 
Granada, and their minds are made up. They 
know all that’s to be known about Catholics, 
and the way they don’t go to Mass, etcethera, 
etcethera. 

“Now the plain thruth is that these grand 
cathedrals are by no manes the best places to 
go for such knowledge, and the devotion, or 
lack of devotion, found in thim is no fair test 
at all of the rale religious attitude of the people. 
To begin with, the people aren’t there at all. 
They’re in their own parish churches—most of 
thim annyhow. 

“The silly cinsors of Catholic absenteeism for¬ 
get that most of those present in these grand 


186 


FATHER BILLY 


cathedrals are tourists like tbimselves, mere 
sight-seers—rnanny of thim utther sthrangers 
to the faith and worship of the natives, ignorant 
of the maning of their ceremonies, and entirely 
out of sympathy with thim, and certainly all 
this doesn’t help much to give a devotional air 
to the congregation. 

“Besides through the well-meant, but much- 
abused kindness and forbearance of the eccle¬ 
siastical authorities, visitors are allowed a great 
dale of latitude, roaming about the sacred edi¬ 
fices at will, even during the services, with a 
result that is far from good. 

“Whin in Rome I mintioned this to the Rec¬ 
tor of tF American College, and he agreed heart¬ 
ily with me, declaring that if he had the power, 
he would soon put a stop to it. If Spaniards 
or Frinclimin or Italians acted in our churches 
as some of us do in theirs, they’d soon be thrown 
out and turned over to the peelers. But they 
wouldn’t think of acting that way; they have 
betther manners than that. 

“To my mind, this ultra-leniency on the part 
of the authorities does more than annything else 
to bring about the very criticisms I’m referring 
to. Such things wouldn’t be tolerated for an 
instant in Germany. In the cathedrals of 
Strassbourg, Cologne, etc., all visitors, non- 
Catholic as well as Catholic, must ayther con- 


THE LAST TRAVELOGUE 


187 


form to tli’ etiquette of the place, or take thirn- 
selves elsewhere. These Germans have laws and 
rules, and they enforce thim, and all praise to 
thim for their determined stand. 

“There is no meandhering, or silly gaping, or 
profane, irreverent chattering in the German 
churches in time of prayer, and, in all proba¬ 
bility, if the same state of affairs existed through¬ 
out the Continent, there would be far more re¬ 
spect for Catholic worship, and far less un¬ 
founded talk anint the decay of religion among 
the Catholics of Europe. 

“Let the feather-brained critics go to th’ or¬ 
dinary parish churches for Mass on Sunday, if 
they want to have their eyes opened for thim. 
There they’ll find fully as much devotion, respect 
and reverence, and fully as manny worshippers, 
as they’d find in anny of our best-conducted 
parish churches of the same size (and a tundher- 
ing sight more than manny of thim’d find in all 
their own churches put together), and, what is 
still betther—and more unexpected—the min 
forming a very fair proportion of the congre¬ 
gation. Yes, my frinds, there’s a sthrong cur¬ 
rent of life pulsating in the veins of these people, 
and religion’s hold on thim bids fair to continue 
as long as the nations shall last.” 



XXVI 

FATHER BILLY AND HIS COMICAL YOUNG PROTEGfi 

Father Billy was extremely fond of children, 
and children were extremely fond of him. But 
the particular chum of the venerable pastor—his 
white-haired boy—was little Tommy Arnold. 

Tommy was a wee mite, just past his fifth 
birthday at the time of this writing, but his 
young head had in it imagination enough to 
make him the greatest romancer in all history. 
Yours truly predicted a wonderful future for him 
as a master novelist, and I’ve often wondered 
since if he came up to expectations. 

The two buddies—January and December— 
saw a good deal of each other; for Tommy often 
dropped in at the rectory to see Billy, and Billy 
sometimes called at Tommy’s house to see him. 
On one of Father Billy’s calls, Tommy’s mama 
had an awful tale to tell her pastor of the little 
man’s premature wickedness. She tried to keep 
serious while telling it, but, in spite of herself, 
she would have to stop every now and then to 
laugh. 

“I’m very glad you called this morning, 
Father/’ said she, “for more reasons than one. 

188 


A COMICAL PROTEGE 


189 


That young man is bringing disgrace on his 
family. The lady who lives next door is out 
a good deal, and it seems that her yard is neg¬ 
lected, though I never was curious enough to 
notice it. So, bless your heart, the other day, 
as I was working inside, I overheard the follow¬ 
ing conversation, at the kitchen door, between 
my neighbor and my promising son: 

“Said he: ‘I see you’re cleaning up yer yard.’ 
‘Yes, Tommy,’ she replied. ‘Well, it’s about 
time,’ remarked the new censor of neighborhood 
housekeeping. 

“Then I heard her ask: ‘Who told you that, 
Tommy?’ 

“ ‘I heard my Aunt Lucy and my mother talk¬ 
in’ about it,’ answered my precious child. 

“At that I concluded it was high time for my¬ 
self to break in on the chat. The fact of the 
matter is, his Aunt Lucy and myself never made 
the slightest reference to the condition of the 
lady’s yard. Lucy doesn’t get home till even¬ 
ing, and I have enough of my own to attend to, 
without bothering my head about the neighbors’ 
affairs. So I said: 

“ ‘Mrs. K-when you get to know that child 

better, you’ll realize that he’s romancing. He 
never heard anything of the sort in this house. 
Though he is my own child, I sometimes fear his 
peculiar imagination will bring him to no good.’ 



190 


FATHER BILLY 


“ ‘Oh, I consider liim a very nice boy.’ said Mrs. 

K-. Tie’s so cute. I was merely amused at 

his remark.’ ” 

Mrs. K- really did like the little fellow, 

and really did get a great deal of amusement 
out of him, and really did get to know him bet¬ 
ter as time went on. 

One day, when his Aunt Lucy was indisposed, 

the kindly Mrs. K- brought her some grape 

fruit. For a while after that, Tommy was evi¬ 
dently on the outs with his next neighbor, and 
it puzzled her to see it; she couldn’t figure out 
the reason. Whenever he met her, he sulked and 
vamoosed. Finally she stopped him and asked 
what was the trouble. 

“I don’t like you,” replied Master Tom, “you 
gave my Aunt Lucy gwape fruit en didn’t give 
me none.” 

“But Tommy,” said the lady, “you’re Aunt 
Lucy was ill and you weren’t.” 

“I wasn’t well either,” he persisted, “en I’m 
not well yet.” 

Shortly after, she brought in a very fine grape 
fruit for the young master himself, and it had 
four nice cherries stuck in it. Yet he didn’t seem 
satisfied. 

“What’s the matter Tommy?” she inquired. 

“Don’t you like the fruit?” 





A COMICAL PROTEGE 


191 


“Wliy’d yuh ony put four cherries in it?” 
queried he. “Din yuh know I’m five years old?” 

One day Tommy toddled into the Rectory 
while Rosie was out. After confabbing with 
Father Billy a while, he suddenly asked: 
“Where’s yer muvver?” meaning Rosie. “She’s 
gone to market,” answered Father Billy. 

“She has to work, en you sit aroun’, don’t 
she?” Billy’s pipe fell from his facial cavity. 

And the young phenomenon continued with a 
bit of home-made history: “ ’At’s a way it is in 
my house. My muvver has to work all day, en 
my fawer loafs. (The father was one of the 
finest and hardest-worked men in the whole par¬ 
ish.) En when she’s tru workin’ in the house, 
she has to go out and work at night.” 

And, most startling of all—“He’s not my right 
fawer anyhow. My right fawer lives on Elm 
Street. I wouldn’ have him for a fawer.” 

“Oh, Tommy dear,” pleaded Billy, “for the love 
of Heaven, don’t say that to anybody but me. 
If ye do ye’ll ruin yere poor father and mother.” 

He reported the news to Mrs. Arnold later, 
and added: “If I don’t stop associating with 
that boy of yours, he’ll be the ruination of me 
yet. He’s already spoiled me morals, and wan of 
these fine days he’ll get me into a fit of laughing 
that’ll burst wan of me blood vessels.” 




XXVII 


FATHER BILLY THROWS A MONKEY-WRENCH 

Did he really perpetrate an Irish Bull? Or 
was the thing said with malice aforethought? 
Did he mean to say just what he said? Or was 
it a slip? To this day I have never been able to 
hit upon the truth of the matter. 

The occasion was a grand banquet given by 
the united parishioners of St. Patrick’s to the 
four reverend Gilhooly brothers, shortly after 
the ordination of the youngest and last of the 
quartet. 

Proud and happy were the good men and 
women of old St. Patrick’s to have four boys from 
their own parish—and those four members of 
one and the same family—raised to the dignity of 
the altar. And they showed their pride and hap¬ 
piness in no stinted way. ’Twasn’t merely a mat¬ 
ter of boasting and bragging, or well-meant, but 
inexpensive congratulations, or pretty speeches. 

Oh, no, the people of St. Patrick’s weren’t built 
that way. They went deep down into their pock¬ 
ets and gave the four Gilhooly boys, and their 
worthy parents, the finest send-off recorded in the 
annals of the city of B-. 


192 



“THROWING A WRENCH” 


193 


Of course, the Reverend Father William 
O'Gorman, familiarly known as Father Billy, 
was toast-master. And he did well in every in¬ 
stance except one, but unfortunately that one 
was the principal instance —the toast of the oc¬ 
casion. 

As set down on the program it read: “What 
the Gilhooly family has done for the diocese of 
B-.” 

As Father Billy enunciated it, it was “What 

the diocese of B- has done for the Gilhooly 

family.” 

And, personally, I don't know that he was so 
far wrong. Too many seem to think they are 
making great sacrifices, and conferring great 
honor on the church, in permitting their children 
to become priests and nuns. If they'd take off 
their smoked glasses and look straight at the 
thing, they might be able to see that it is the other 
way round, that it’s the church that always does 
the honoring—and frequently makes the sacrifice 
—in accepting their sons and daughters. 

My own poor mother, God rest her, was fright¬ 
fully surprised when Holy Mother Church con¬ 
sented to receive one of her sons. If Holy Mother 
Church had been blind enough to take three or 
four of the wastrels, I think my good parents 
would almost have lost the faith. 




XXVIII 


FATHER BILLYHS PET CHARGES 

There was a big orphanage connected with 
St. Patrick’s, and this was the good pastor’s own 
particular tramping ground. If he loved chil¬ 
dren in general, his special interest and affection 
were reserved for the orphans. His big heart 
went out to these bereaved ones, and their little 
hearts went out to him in a hearty response. 

When he first went among them the poor things 
were a rather sad and sorry lot, timid, distant, 
self-conscious, seemingly afraid to open their 
mouths. Not that the good sisters in charge 
ill-treated them. On the contrary, they w T ere 
most kind and motherly — a great deal more 
motherly, perhaps, than the natural mothers of 
many of them. And the children were free 
enough with the sisters, once they got used to 
their surroundings, and sloughed off their native 
shyness. 

But they didn’t make a good impression on 
vistors, even on the clergy. Few of them took 
readily to strangers, and these, seeing their diffi¬ 
dence and reticence, often wrongly concluded 
that the children were cowed. 

194 


FATHER BILLY’S PET CHARGES 195 


The first move Father Billy made was to throw 
the uniforms into the discard and have them 
dressed like other children; to give them, as far 
as was possible or practical, the same liberty 
and choice they would have had in respectable 
homes. And he found immediately that this 
move went a great way towards eliminating their 
backwardness and self-consciousness. 

Next, he provided games of all sorts for their 
recreation, entertainments of various kinds, 
sometimes bringing the talent of the parish for 
that purpose; again, having the youngsters get 
up their own little plays. 

He interested a goodly number of his parish¬ 
ioners in the asylum, and these visited the or¬ 
phans regularly, providing numerous treats, es¬ 
pecially at Christmas, when they had a real, 
live, loaded-down Santa Claus. And let me tell 
you there were few children, even of the rich, 
who fared better, or had a more enjoyable time, 
than these same orphans during the holidays. 

Apropos of this, one of the lady visitors told 
yours truly that she took her own child to one 
of these Christmas donation parties at the asy¬ 
lum, and when the bags and dolls were given 
out, her little one wanted to go up for her share. 
The mother explained that those things were 
only for the orphans. And, lo and behold ye, the 
youngster began to cry and lament the fact that 


196 


FATHER BILLY 


she was not an orphan, too, asking the mother 
pleadingly: “Can I be an orphan next year?” 

But if the venerable father of the orphans took 
care to provide for the animal wants of his 
charges, he was even more careful to supply 
proper fodder for their souls and brains. Their 
classes were looked after just as solicitously 
as the classes in his own parochial school. When¬ 
ever the children showed any special aptitude, 
he gave them every chance to make good. And 
very many of them have made good in various 
walks of life, becoming a credit to themselves 
and their kind guardians. 

I mentioned the fine time the children had at 
Christmas tide. I might have said it was al¬ 
ways Christmas time when Father Billy was 
around, and he was to the little ones a perennial 
Kris Kringle. It would do your heart good, and 
drive all the grouchiness and pessimism out of 
your system, if you could only have witnessed 
the commotion and happiness Father Billy’s 
frequent calls always produced. 

As soon as he appeared in sight, the word went 
through the building like wild-fire. The young¬ 
sters would flock to the windows, calling out: 
“Oh, goody goody, here comes Father Billy.” 
And little good in the way of order or discipline 
was to be got out of them till he had left. 

There was no bashfulness about them, or re- 


FATHER BILLY'S PET CHARGES 197 


serve, or timidity, where their kind patron was 
concerned. They threw their arms about him, 
climbed up on him, caught hold of his coat-tails, 
his legs, or his walking stick, till he had to cry 
out: “Ye young rascals, I see ye’re tired of the 
old man. Ye want to smother me.” 

And they’d give him no peace or rest till he 
consented to tell them a story, or take part in 
their games, if it was recreation time. A great 
sight it was, in truth, to see the old white-haired 
man tossing the soft rubber ball and playing 
catch with the wee tots who scarcely reached to 
his knee. 

When good Father Billy passed to the Great 
Beyond, thousands deeply and most sincerely 
mourned his loss; but nowhere was there a deeper 
or a truer grief than among the Sisters and the 
Orphans of St. John’s Asylum. 


XXIX 


BILLYHS RENCONTRE WITH THE EMINENT 
PSYCHOLOGIST 

A very learned man, one who had delved 
deeply into the workings and constitution of 
the human mind, and a very good Catholic to 
boot, had recently been installed as care-taker 
of the psychopathically inclined, in the big Catho¬ 
lic hospital of St. James, which was within the 
borders of old St. Patrick’s parish. 

The learned gentleman was likewise a profes¬ 
sor of his useful branch of science in a great 

university situated in the environs of B-and 

made it a practice to bring his students to the 
hospital for his clinical exhibitions. 

Shortly after he took charge of his depart¬ 
ment, he called on Father Billy to pay his re¬ 
spects, and offer his services to aid the psycho¬ 
pathies of St. Patrick’s parish. 

Said he to the pastor: “I’d be very glad to 
give whatever help I can to any of your people 
—children or adults—who may be, not exactly 
idiots or imbeciles, but just about half way, 
feeble-minded, neurotic or abnormal. Frequent¬ 
ly these conditions are due to physical or nerv- 

198 




THE PSYCHOLOGIST 


199 


ous causes, and, with a knowledge of the causes, 
or roots of the evils, through investigation, a 
considerable amelioration—sometimes even a 
permanent and radical cure—may be wrought.” 

“Thank you very kindly for your good intin- 
tions, docthor,” answered Billy, “but thank God, 
we have none of that class of people in this 
parish. They’re all hard-working and plain-liv¬ 
ing, sinsible people, and they have no time for 
nerves and all that sort of foolishness. If ye’re 
hard up for that kind of min and women and 
childhren, ve’d betther go up to the big-bugs in 
the rich parishes of St. George and St. Clement, 
where I believe they have plinty of thim.” 



XXX 


A WORD OF ADVICE 

Said Father Billy one day to Father O’Brien, 
his young assistant: “James, I’m sure ye know 
the ould man well enough be this time to undher- 
stand that, whin I talk to ye like this, I’m not 
finding fault with ye, or thrying to lecture ye, 
but just talking like an older brother. And I 
feel that ye’ll always take things in the spirit 
in which they’re mint. 

“If I were ye, I’d be very careful of what I’d 
say on the tiliphone, and the lingth of time I’d 
spind at it. I know it’s exthramely hard at times 
to help yereself, whin the wan at th’ other ind 
is a gas-bag, and especially whin it’s a woman. 

“But I’d manage wan way or other to make 
thim undherstand that a tiliphone talk should 
always be short and to the pint, and that there 
are manny matthers which must not be discussed 
at all over th’ insthrument. I wouldn’t do it, of 
coorse, in a way that’d be likely to hurt their 
feelings, if they’re raisonable in their feelings. 
There’s a way of doing those things gracefully 
and tactfully, and I belave ye have that way 
about ye as much as annv wan I know. Let 

200 


A WOKD OF ADVICE 


201 


thim see, in a polite and kindly manner, that ye 
have more important business to attind to than 
listening to jokes and laughter and gossip over 
the wires, and, furthermore, that the tiliphone 
is for common use, and not for lingthy private 
conversations; that there are others waiting to 
get a hearing, maybe for an urgent sick call. 

“And ye never know who’s listening in on yere 
talk ayther. Anint that fature of it, a frind of 
me own tould me wance of a talkative frind of 
hers who called her up to gossip of an acquaint¬ 
ance. Well, the two of thim bandied it back 
and forth for a full half-hour when, lo and be¬ 
hold ye, they heard a half-smothered chuckling 
from somewhere along the line, though it was 
raly a private line. Somehow the wires were 
crossed, or something wint wrong. At anny rate, 
it was clear enough that there was a third party 
to the conversation. 

“Ye can well imagine their flusthration whin 
they learned that. As soon as she got back her 
breath, the other woman, the wan who had done 
the calling, and most of the talking, axed: ‘Will 
ye plaze tell me, sir (for it was evidently a man), 
what ye mane by listening to a conversation 
that isn’t meant for ye? And how ye managed to 
get in on this line annyhow?’ 

“Still laughing fit to split his sides, the vaga¬ 
bond answered: ‘Me dear ladies, I give ye me 


202 


FATHER BILLY 


word of honor I didn’t butt in intintionally. I 
intinded to call up some wan else, and this is 
what I got. But oh, it was so much betther 
than what I wanted that I couldn’t injuce me- 
self to break away. I’m going now, but before 
I lave I just want to tell ye that a man can 
keep a sacret almost as well as a woman, and 
that yere sacret is safe with me. And, further¬ 
more, I’d like ye to know that I fully agree with 
ye that the woman ye were talking about is just 
perfectly horrid (And that’s exactly what 
they’d been saying about the poor woman, time 
and again, for the half hour.) 

“Now, mighn’t it just as well have been the 
back-bitten woman herself that butted in, as 
that sthrange man? And thin, be the hokies, 
there’d have been a pretty kettle of broth for 
ye. 

“On or off the tiliphone we’ve all got to be ex- 
thramely chary of our dalings with the women¬ 
folk. As Thomas h Kempis says, in the best book 
ever written, afther the Scripture itself—th’ Imi¬ 
tation of Christ—‘Be not familiar with anny 
woman, but commind all good women to God.’ 

“Thrue enough, they’re the ‘devout female sex,’ 
and the Church of God couldn’t well get on with¬ 
out thim, but, all the same, they haven’t our 
ways of looking at things, and we’ve got to walk 
the chalk line in our dalings with thim. This 


A WORD OF ADVICE 


203 


is particularly thrue of the young priest just 
out of the siminary. 

“There isn’t a priest ever ordained, no mat- 
tlier how ordinary he may be, in mind, or looks, 
or manners, who need be without a following of 
devout females, if he wants thim. They’re giner- 
ally ayther the very young wans, whose heads 
are still a bit soft, or the good ould maids who 
want something to mother. 

“However they manage it, they can see the 
most exthraordinary qualities in min whose col¬ 
leagues, be they the most charitable of mortals, 
can see nothing to dhraw a second look or 
thought. And those good daughters of Eve will 
pray for thim, and work for thim, and sew for 
thim, and laud thim to the skies. 

“It’s all well and good and perfectly proper, 
provided the man himself has the right balance, 
and knows himself for what he is, and isn’t 
feather-brained enough to be carried away be 
th’ unstinted and often undeserved flatthery he 
gets. 

“They’re a great, perhaps an indispinsable, 
help in the priest’s work, and most probably their 
little human attachmint to their priests is a 
wise provision of Divine Providence. Only, let 
the priest himself be prudent, and everything will 
be right enough. 

“Manny and manny’s the time, James, I wished 


204 


FATHER BILLY 


to the good God there was no need of fairs, and 
lawn fetes, and garden parties, and th’ other 
manes of raising money for our churches. Oh, 
what a thrial and a heart-burning it is to the 
priest to get the round pegs into round holes, 
and the square pegs into the square holes! It 
would take the wisdom of th’ Almighty Himself 
to satisfy the women church-workers, and put 
tkirn where they want to be, and where they think 
they ought to be. 

“Mrs. Finnerty considhers herself the logical, 
and only suitable, head of the fancy table, and 
gets huffed if she’s given second or third place. 
Miss Slocum wants to be put in charge of the 
confectionery table, and is miffed if ye ax her to 
help at the supper table. And so it goes, with 
the little petty jealousies and bickerings and con- 
tintions, till ye sometimes wondher if the busi¬ 
ness ind of the thing doesn’t half desthroy the 
good we’ve been able to accomplish in the church. 

“Of coorse, as ye well know, that isn’t the 
way with all of thim, thank God, or even with 
the most of thim. But there are always enough 
of those sore-heads and self-seekers to sour the 
crame. 

“As I said to ye a while ago, the women gin- 
erally haven’t our way of looking at things, or 
of talking about thim ayther. I’ve often had 
thim say to me: ‘Isn’t Father So-and-so the 


A WORD OF ADVICE 


205 


loveliest man? or the loveliest singer? or the 
loveliest pracher?’ or something of the sort. 
Now ye know well, James, that I’m not much 
given to invy. There’s little raison why I should. 
Most of the time Fm very fond of the min they 
ax such questions about, but I can’t see for the 
life of me that they’re the ‘loveliest’ annything. 
So I say in a man’s way of putting things: ‘He’s 
all right, or he’s a fine fellow, or he’s a good 
scout.’ But that doesn’t seem to satisfy thim 
at all. And do ye know I sometimes belave in 
me heart and sowl they raley think the ould man 
is jealous?” 


XXXI 


MORE TELEPHONE TROUBLE 

Father Billy O’Gorman was not an antedilu¬ 
vian. On tlie contrary, he never lost his youthful 
spirits, and never failed to keep pace with the 
age. As soon as an improvement was proved 
such, he lost little time in securing it. But 
there was one period in his life when he was 
sorely tempted to wish that telephones hadn’t 
come into vogue till he had taken in hand his 
golden harp. 

It was during the time when Delia was assist¬ 
ing his sister Rosie in the housework. Delia 
was straight from the ould sod, and all the signs 
were on her. She locomotored about as though 
she were striding along the potato fields in boots 
or brogans, and her brogue was thick as dry 
oatmeal mush. So thick, indeed, that even Billy 
and Rosie, both of whom had well developed 
brogues of their own, could scarcely make out 
her meaning at times. 

One time Father Billy had taken a counting 
machine on trial for a few weeks. When the 
time was up, the salesman came to ask if he 

206 


MORE TELEPHONE TROUBLE 207 

intended to keep it. As the clergy were enjoying 
their after-dinner smoke, Delia came into the 
room and announced that “the kine mon” was 
down stairs. 

“The what?” asked Billy. 

“The kine mon, the mooney mon,” she an¬ 
swered. 

By dint of questioning and pointing they final¬ 
ly discovered that she meant the coin man, or 
money man —hoc est, the counting machine sales¬ 
man. 

Sometimes they couldn’t make out her rendi¬ 
tion of proper names. “Mrs. Carr,” coming from 
her lips, sounded like “Mrs. Carroll.” She never 
adopted the broad A. It was always flat with 
her. The result was many a mix-up, and many 
a wild goose chase. 

But these little annoyances, and her confirmed 
penchant for dropping seventy-five per cent of 
whatever she picked up, were trifling compared 
with her efforts to master the “tiliphone.” At 
first she had a morbid dread of the thing, and 
the buzz of it made her tremble like a leaf. No 
one ever heard her say so, but it was the general 
belief that she regarded it as some sort of canned 
lightning. When she had to approach it she 
did so with a look of terror, and hands up, as 
if to ward off a threatened blow. It was quite 
a while, in spite of frequent instructions, before 


208 


FATHER BILLY 


she knew, without previous deliberation, which 
end to put to her ear, and which to her lips. 

Gradually, however, she conquered her fears 
and not only grew accustomed to it, but seemed 
positively to become enamored of it, to such an 
extent that she was the first to run to it, and 
worried when it didn’t ring as often as usual. 
And it was the very devil to get her away from 
it. She was clearly as delighted to talk into the 
thing as a poor, neglected child would be to get 
a lovely doll. 

And this was the usual trend of the conversa¬ 
tion : 

“Hillo—hillo-o-o, hillo! Who is it, ye say? 
Phat is it?—Hillo, hillo-o, hillo! Phat number 
is this? Wait a minit. Hillo, hillo-o, hillo; Our 
number is—hillo, wait a minit—’Tis Well-more, 
No, not Bell-more, it’s Well-more, yis, Well-more, 
wan, Well-more, wan-eight, wan-eight-six. 

“Have ye that? Yis, hillo, hillo-o, hillo! 
Phat’s yere number? Wait a minute (fishes for 
a pencil and paper), Colebrown, is it? No? 
Coalburrn. Will ye spell it, plaze? Hillo, hillo, 
hillo! 

“C—did ye say? C-o-l-e. Wait a minit. 
C-o-l-e-b-u-r-n. Yis, I have it. Number? Three- 
wan—phat is it? Three-wan. Oh, wan-wan, is 
it? Wan-wan-wan. 

“Mrs. Brady, did ye say? Mrs. Grady, yis. 


MORE TELEPHONE TROUBLE 209 


Oh, ye say sanctuary ladyf Niver mind the 
name? All right. I’ll tell him whin he comes in. 
Hillo, hillo! All right. Good-bye, good-bye.” 

There was a great deal more, and a great deal 
worse, but the foregoing will be more than 
enough for you, I opine, dear, gentle, patient 
reader mine. 

And when Father Billy, or Father James, or 
Father Kelly—whichever one the message came 
for—would call up the number which Delia had 
collected with such tremendous effort, and so 
much fuming vexation on the part of the other 
party, the hello girl would reply, very curt and 
snappy-like: “There’s no such number in the 
directory.” 


In time, Delia evidently thought it her place 
to communicate a considerable quantity of super¬ 
fluous information to the “tiliphone” callers. I’ve 
heard talk for some time of a proposed improve¬ 
ment in that convenience which will enable the 
talkers to see each other, vis a vis. The people 
who had the luck—good or ill—to get Delia on 
the phone couldn’t, of course, see either herself 
or the other folks in the rectory, but they could 
easily know, if they wanted, just exactly what 
all of them were doing at the time. 

“Father (bear in mind, always the flat A) 


210 


FATHER BILLY 


is lyin’ down, or Father is in the bath-room, or 
Father is at his brakwist.” 

Patient and long-suffering though Billy was, 
especially with those under him, the thing got 
on his nerves at last and seriously frazzled their 
edges, and finally he was forced to relieve Delia, 
in a gentle and tactful manner, of her “tiliphone” 
duties. 

Nevertheless and notwithstanding, whenever 
the good pastor was out, and she thought Rosie 
wasn’t around, or wasn’t likely to notice, she 
was delighted to get a stolen chance at her favor¬ 
ite sport. 

Once upon a time, when Father Billy was off on 
a trip, one of the priestly wags of the city, one 
who knew conditions at the rectory, and was 
aware of Delia’s failing, called up: 

“Is Father William O’Gorman there?” he in¬ 
quired. 

“He is not thin,” answered Delia, “he’s gone 
to Mitchigon for a little wocation. An’ who’s 
this I’m talkin’ to?” 

“This is a newspaper reporter from the B- 

Daily Times,” he replied. “I suppose you know 
the Bishop of D-is dead?” 

“Indade I didn’t thin,” said she, “and it’s sorry 
I am to hear it now. The poor man! It’s too 
bad at all, it is.” 




MORE TELEPHONE TROUBLE 211 


“But who is this at the phone ?” queried the 
scalawag. 

“It’s Father Willum’s wumman,” she an¬ 
swered. 

“Oh, so,” said the pseudo-reporter, “why I 
didn’t know Father O’Gorman had a woman. 

“Well, ye know it now annyway.” she retorted, 
“an’ it isn’t wan he has ayther, but two of us.” 

“Well, well, well,” said the villain, “that’s real 
news for certain, I’ll have to put that in the 
paper. But what I called up for,” he continued, 
“was to say that it is rumored abroad that Father 

O’Gorman is to be the the next Bishop of D-, 

in place of the one who just died. Can you tell 
me if there is any truth in the report?” 

“Faith thin,” said Delia, brindling up, “I 
thrust there isn’t, and there won’t be if I have 
annything to do with it. We like Father Wil- 
lum where he is, and we don’t want him to be 
med Bishop. An’ ye can tell thim so from me. 
Let him go to somether ilse for their Bishop.” 



XXXII 


WHEN PRIESTS GO WRONG 

It was a Monday, and, as usual on that day, 
Father Cahalan and a few others had dropped 
in for dinner at St. Patrick’s. When the cere¬ 
mony was well under way, Father Kelly said: 
“What do you think? One of the college profes¬ 
sors up there heard of a book entitled ‘Vocations,’ 
by a Gerald O’Donovan. And taking the title 
and the name of the author together, he assumed 
at once, without reading the book or consulting 
anyone, that it was an instructive and devotional 
treatise on the beauties and joys of the religious 
life, a clarion call to the young men and women 
of the land to enter the service of God and their 
fellow-creatures. So off he goes, post-haste, to 
all the nuns he knows in the town, to tell them 
of his find, and urge them to get it immediately. 

“Some time after, when he had learned what 
the book really was, he went off faster than he 
did the first time to recall his advice, but it was 
too late. Have any of you read the thing?” 

“Yes,” replied Father Billy, “I’ve read three 
of his ugly tales: ‘Vocations,’ ‘Father Ralph,’ 
and ‘The Conquest.’ ” 


212 


WHEN PRIESTS GO WRONG 


213 


“And what do you think of them?” inquired 
Cahalan. And without waiting for an answer, 
he continued: “I read them, too, and, though 
they’re rotten in substance, they are certainly 
cleverly written. The man’s a natural-born fic- 
tionist. His character sketches are masterly, he 
furnishes a good plot, has an A No. 1 style, 
knows the language, and knows how to use it to 
advantage, too. He is clearly a man of culture, 
with a wide range of reading. And, as a result 
of all these good points, I fear he will be widely 
read, and do a vast amount of harm.” 

“And why wouldn’t he be a man of culture, 
and a widely read man?” queried Father Billy. 
“Isn’t he a priest, with all a priest’s training 
and advantages? All he has, he got from the 
Mother whose name he now dhrags through the 
dust and dirt. The first thought I had whin I 
read him was that ‘It’s a dirty bird that fouls its 
own nest.’ 

“Ye say he’s a clever novelist, and I agree with 
ye, and that he will be read and do harm, and 
I agree with ye there, too. ’Tis a great pity and 
shame he didn’t devote his ginuine talents to a 
betther cause than the ruination of human sowls. 
I read his books because they were about me own 
land and me own people, and annything and 
everything about thim is of intherest to me. But 
it brought the blush of shame to me cheeks to 


214 


FATHER BILLY 


think that wan of our own, born and raised 
among us, should so vilely thraduce his own kith 
and kin.” 

“Of course,” chimed in Father Kane, “it’s but 
natural that we should feel resentful and in¬ 
dignant against any one who steps deliberately 
on our corns. And the worst of the thing is 
that in most cases he tells the truth about us.” 

“Me dear boy,” answered Billy, “ye’re twenty- 
five per cent right and seventy-five wrong. I’ll 
admit he does tell the thruth at times, anint 
very exthrame and rare cases, but those abnormal 
and pathological cases are, by no manes, types 
of a class or a people. And that’s precisely what 
he manes thim to be taken for. It would be 
every bit as sinsible to thry to make out that 
all the twelve apostles were grafters and thrait- 
ors because Judas was wan of thim.” 

“Exactly,” chimed in Father Cahalan, “that 
is my impression to a T. 

“O’Donovan takes up cases, or instances, that 
may be founded on fact—isolated and most un¬ 
usual departures, that occurred at long intervals 
and in widely-separated corners of the world, 
piles them all up together in one city or town, 
or in one small convent, and thereby endeavors 
to convey the impression that all are alike; that 
his clerical and religious outlaws are the rule, 
instead of the rare exception. 


WHEN PRIESTS GO WRONG 215 


“His method is characteristic of the so-called, 
and mis-called, ‘intelligentsia’ of this day. They 
are, for the most part, a set of youngish writers, 
full of an affectation of cynicism and pessimism. 
I say ‘affectation’ advisedly, for their everyday 
lives are in striking contrast to their literary 
theorizings. This clique believes, or pretends 
to believe, that there is no such thing as genuine 
virtue or goodness among men and women; no 
real high purposes or ideals, and that what ap¬ 
pears virtue is simply rank hypocrisy, superin¬ 
duced by conventionalism or public opinion. In 
short, it is the result of concealment, or the 
covering up of one’s tracks. 

“In their own eyes they are the wise ones, 
the super-men of the world, who see things as 
they are, and not as the deluded or lying ro¬ 
mancers set them before a childishly gullible 
reading public. They go to the gutters and sew¬ 
ers and brothels for their characters, pick out the 
most abnormal and morbid specimens they can 
find, and set them up as types of humanity. 
To them the whole thing is rotten beyond re¬ 
demption. I’ve never got up from one of these 
so-called realistic novels without having a bad 
taste in the mouth. If these pornographic scrib¬ 
blers really believe what they write, the least 
they might do for the good of the race is to 
keep their baneful raven croakings to themselves, 


216 


FATHER BILLY 


instead of poisoning the minds and souring the 
lives of the young with them.” 

“Bravo, Cahalan,” cried Father Billy. “Ill 
have to get ye to make a spache on that mat- 
ther to me people next winther. 

“It seems to me ye sthruek the right note, and 
hit on the right explanation of Gerald O’Dono¬ 
van and the clique to which he belongs, whin 
ye mintioned their consate and arrogance, their 
know-it-all-ness, or belief in their superior wis¬ 
dom and judgment. 

“In most cases, whin a priest doffs his robes, 
and attacks his Church and his former colleagues, 
it’s pride or consate that’s at the bottom of it. 
Some rale or fancied w r rong his pride’s too 
sthrong to brook, failure to get the promotion 
he thinks he deserves, rebukes and rebuffs, ex- 
thraordinary abilities unrecognized or unappre¬ 
ciated by the stupid authorities. Ye’ll pretty 
nearly always find something like that at the 
root of the matther. 

“Now and thin, of coorse, a poor divil goes 
off through wakeness of wan kind or another, 
but most of the hurt he does is to himself; he 
doesn’t try to dhrag others down with him. It’s 
the consated, the proud and arrogant, that do 
the big harm. They get mad at the Bishop, or 
at their colleagues, and think they’ll spite thim, 
be maligning the Church and her ministers. The 


WHEN PRIESTS GO WRONG 


217 


rale spite they do is to Almighty God and their 
poor deluded selves. 

“I can undherstand aisily enough how such 
a wan, with the divil of pride tugging at his 
elbows, can get mad as a hatther for a time, 
and say and do things he wouldn’t think of in 
his sober sinses. But what I never can undher¬ 
stand is how he can deliberately, and in cold 
blood, write stuff that’s calculated to start the 
damnation of countless immortal sowls, and all 
just to gratify his bitther spleen and soothe his 
hurt pride.” 

“Gerald O’Donovan’s method is about as clever 
a way of telling a lie as could well be imagined,” 
observed Father Cahalan. “The downright, out- 
and-out liars and vilifiers who talk and write 
palpable slanders, can easily be refuted by point¬ 
ing to the facts. But you can’t maintain outright 
that what O’Donovan says is false in toto. The 
things he writes of, or something akin to them, 
have, no doubt, happened now and again. And 
yet, the conclusion likely to be reached by the 
average non-Catholic reader, from O’Donovan’s 
process of condensing so much filth, and grouping 
together so many rotten samples, is that the ab¬ 
normal conditions he writes of are well nigh 
universal, and come near making up the regular 
order of the day.” 

“The careers of such min,” said Father Billy. 


218 


FATHER BILLY 


“are proofs enough, if proofs are needed, that 
‘pride goes before a fall.’ We know well how 
God Himself abominates the proud. ‘Two 
things/ He tell us, ‘My soul detests.’ And the 
first of thim is pride: ‘A proud heart, and lying 
lips.’ And wan of the greatest lessons the Mas- 
ther wants us to learn of Him is to be ‘meek 
and humble of heart.’ 

“However this isn’t the time or the proper 
audience, ayther, for praching. But I will say 
this much: there isn’t a man alive who has a 
greater respect than I have for rale ability, joined 
with rale modesty; or a greater contimpt for con- 
sate, with or without ability. It’s been me own 
experience all through life, that the greatest and 
most worth while min are always the least pre- 
tintious. It’s the half-baked that give thimselves 
the most airs. 

“I never see anny wan of the rale big min we 
have among ourselves here putting on lugs and 
sthrutting and posing. It’s the little fellows 
who think thimselves big, that sthrut about like 
paycocks, with their affectations of spache, and 
mannerisms, and exhibitions of little bits of 
learning they picked out of the encyclopedias, 
thrying to give pints to min who could tache 
thim for manny years to come. 

“Whinever I get a sight of wan of those puffed- 
out bags of wind poised, so important and conse- 


WHEN PRIESTS GO WRONG 219 


quintial-looking, on a pair of human showlders. 
I have a sthrong timptation to take a pin and 
puncture it. And if some wan don’t puncture it 
in time, and let out the gas, and let in a little 
harse sinse, mark me words, it’ll come to no good 
ind.” 


XXXIII 


BITS OF CLERICAL GOSSIP AND WISDOM 

It was recreation time during the Annual Re¬ 
treat, and a group of the tired clergy were seated 
on one of the long benches under the trees in 
the seminary grounds smoking their pipes, cigars 
and cigarettes, according to individual taste, and 
trying hard to fight the internal fire induced by 
the noonday heat with the fire external from the 
combustion of tobacco. 

There was the venerable Father Billy O’Gor¬ 
man, short, stout, pudgy, florid of face, placid, 
benevolent, but shrewd-eyed; and Father Caha- 
lan, athletic-looking, tall and erect, broad-shoul¬ 
dered and virile, with the head of a Greek god; 
Doctor Ammen, every inch the scholar and think¬ 
er, sparse of hair and slightly stooped; Father 
Steinmayr, good-natured, loud of voice and 
hearty of laugh, always a general favorite; and 
the grim, sardonic Father Jones, whose bark was 
far worse than his bite, a sort of censor, and an 
offset to the more frivolous. 

As usual, in the course of the hour and a 
half allotted for the recreation, the conversation 
ran the whole gamut of talk, discussions of past 

220 


CLERICAL GOSSIP AND WISDOM 221 


and impending changes among the priests, par¬ 
ish fairs and tournaments and carnivals, of 
boundary lines, of the Retreat preacher and his 
discourses, exchange of experiences, jokes and 
jibes—always free of malice—anent the absent 
and the present. 

“Did you ever see a man with an O to his 
name who looked less the Irishman than O’Don¬ 
nell there?” asked Father Cahalan, referring to 
a rather boyish-looking blond of some fifty odd 
years, who was strolling up and dowm the cam¬ 
pus. “The several mixtures of alien blood seem 
to have turned him from the Keltic to the Scan¬ 
dinavian type.” 

“And they’ve taken all the Irish w r it and humor 
out of him, too,” observed the censor. “I never 
met an Irishman’s son wfith such ponderous grav¬ 
ity. He never gets up to talk to his people— 
the children as w^ell as their elders—without 
quoting all the pagan and Christian celebrities 
of antiquity. I suppose most of his parishioners 
think Plutarch is the man who named the me¬ 
dicinal water some of them take before breakfast, 
and, for all they know about him, Aristotle might 
be the founder of the Carthusians. It’s a stand¬ 
ing joke in the parish, and when he goes into the 
school, the children whisper to one another: 
He’s going to tell us about Plutarch or Aris¬ 
totle.’ ” 




222 


FATHER BILLY 


“See here, Jones,” said Billy, “yere dinner 
must be lying heavy on yere stomach. Ye’re an 
awful grouch. I know, of course, as well as ye, 
that a man’s talk should be adapted to his audi¬ 
ence; that he ought to go up or come down to 
their level; that it’s a woeful waste of time and 
breath to talk over people’s heads; that, in in¬ 
structing children, he should put himself in 
their place. I look upon it as the best test of 
a pracher to be able to hould the attintion and 
interest of the children, and to make thim un- 
dherstand him. It’s the ‘ars est celare artem ’ 

“But whin all’s considhered, O’Donnell de¬ 
serves far more praise than cinsure. He’s a 
man of very ordinary ability, and, in spite of his 
handicaps, he’s med good. He had to work hard, 
I’m tould, to get whatever he got at college and 
the siminary, yet, whin he was through his coorse, 
they sint him to the University.” 

“They did,” grunted Jones, “because there was 
no one else to send at the time.” 

“That’s nayther here nor there,” persisted 
Father Billy, “the pint is that he took his degree. 
We see this thing too often in an entirely wrong 
light. We look up and pandher to the bright 
man who gets things aisy, and hince deserves 
little credit for it, and we’re rather inclined to 
sneer at, or at laste to undher-rate, the poor fel¬ 
low who has to work like a Throjan—and does 


CLERICAL GOSSIP AND WISDOM 223 


it. That’s altogether wrong. For meself, I’d 
greatly prefer the latther; he proves he has char¬ 
acter and backbone.” 

“I heartily agree with you, Billy,” said Doc¬ 
tor Ammen. “You can’t well blame a man for 
trying to make all possible use of what he has 
acquired by dint of hard, up-hill work. He 
knows the value of it, while the brilliant man 
takes the thing as a matter of course. It cost 
him little, and he doesn’t generally appreciate it 
as the plodder does. ‘Easy come easy goes,’ as 
they say.” 

“Are you going off on one of your annual trips 
to Europe, Ammen?” asked Father Cahalan of 
the Doctor. 

“I am,” he answered. 

“Better be careful. You know: ‘Rolling 
stones gather no moss.’ ” 

“Who wants to gather moss?” countered Doc¬ 
tor Ammen. “What good is moss? Did you ever 
stop to think that when the stone gathers moss, 
it loses its identity in a way? The poor stone 
is covered up; only the moss is in evidence. 
While the stone that rolls a good deal may get 
, dirty now and then, but eventually it acquires 
a fine polish. 

“So with the man who moves always in the 


224 


FATHER BILLY 


same narrow groove. Himself will likely grow 
narrow, provincial, while the traveled man, 
though he may get a bit soiled occasionally, will 
take on in time—if he’s the sort that knows how 
to travel—the polish of experience and large¬ 
ness.” 


* * * * * 

“They tell us, Steinmayr,” said Father 
Cahalan, “that you’re the greatest Novena man 
of the age. I hear you’ve so many trying to make 
your many novenas that you could easily till St. 
Peter’s, Rome, with them.” 

Father Steinmayr’s hearty laughter showed 
his pleasure as well as his huge amusement at 
the remark. 

“Novenas are all very good in their way,” said 
Father Billy, “provided the commercial element 
is kept out of them. Unfortunately, there are 
too manny who forget that the chief function of 
prayer is to praise and adore and thank God, 
and imagine it was meant entirely for timporal 
favors. They serve God, not so much for the 
love of God, or the good of their sowls, as for 
the love and the good of their bodies. Serve Him, 
not for what they can do for Him, but for what 
they can get out of Him. 

“Yes,” chimed in the censor, “and if they don’t 
get what they want or expect, they get the sulks, 



CLERICAL GOSSIP AND WISDOM 225 


and refuse to serve at all. It’s like making a 
Jew bargain, you give me a whole lot, and I’ll 
give you a very little. 

“They’re like that infernally stuck-up Pharisee 
the Lord speaks of,” he continued. “He walks 
right up, almost on top of the altar, holds up his 
head, throws out his chest, and tells the Lord 
what a fine fellow he is, and how much he does 
for Him, though the probabilities are that he 
was an all-around cheat. No doubt he expected 
the Almighty to come down and thank him, and 
tell him how proud He was to have made such a 
grand specimen of the race. The result of it was 
that the hypocrite went away without getting 
anything—much poorer than he came, if he only 
knew it. 

“And the other poor fellow, the publican hum¬ 
bly kneeling on the floor behind a pillar, thump¬ 
ing his breast and admitting freely that he de¬ 
served nothing but hell, went out rich in God's 
favor.” 

“Ye’re right for once, Jones,” said Billy, “none 
of us has any raison for complaint whin we don’t 
get what we want. If we all got what we de¬ 
serve from God, we’d get hell.” 


XXXIV 

WHEN THE VICAR-GENERAL HANDED IN HIS 

RESIGNATION 

Father Spillane, the Vicar-General, was a 
man of few words, stern and uncompromising. 
There was little or nothing attractive on the out¬ 
side of him, but he was the soul of honesty, 
straight as a string, and he had the respect and 
good will of all who knew his real worth. 

One fine day the Bishop dropped in on Father 
Billy, and told him Spillane wanted to resign and 
enter a monastery. 

“I can’t understand the man at all,” said the 
Bishop. “Here he is living with me, and eating 
at the same table, and meeting me a dozen times 
in the day, and without a word of talk or any 
preliminaries, he writes me—writes me a letter, 
mind you—telling me of his intentions. 

“It came like a bolt out of a clear sky. There 
has never been a serious disagreement between 
us. I am perfectly satisfied with him and his 
work, and, as far as I know, he has no reason 
to be dissatisfied with me. I can’t make it out 
at all.” 

Father Billy laughed heartily at the story. 

226 



VICAR-GENERAL’S RESIGNATION 227 


The oddity of the thing touched his funny bone. 

“It’s raley a quare thing for a man to be 
writing letters to wan living in the same house 
with him, as if they were not on speaking terms,” 
he remarked as soon as he was able to control 
his voice. “I’d be greatly surprised at it in anny 
other man, but coming from Spillane, it’s not to 
be wondhered at. I don’t know but it’s just 
what I’d expect from him. 

“Whatever his raisons may be—a bilious at¬ 
tack, or awful remorse for the terrible sins of 
his youth—I think it’s clear enough that he 
hasn’t the courage to tell you to your face. 

“If I were in your place, Bishop, I’d dale with 
him the same way, sind him an answer by mail, 
giving him a sound lambasting for wanting to 
quit his post of duty, like a deserter, and refus¬ 
ing point-black to considher his resignation.” 

The Bishop followed Billy’s advice. There 
was no further communication from Father Spil¬ 
lane. And neither then nor ever after was the 
subject so much as mentioned between the Bishop 
and his worthy Vicar-General. 



XXXV 

FATHER SPILLANE’S WRATH AT THE BISHOP’S 

SERMON 

As I remarked before, Father Spillane, the 
Vicar-General, was a man of stern, uncompro¬ 
mising mould. He had no patience with molly¬ 
coddle methods in religion. He didn’t follow the 
primrose path himself, nor would he point out 
any such road to others. He was built on the 
plan of the old Hebrew prophets. Perhaps this 
was responsible for his one-time desire to give 
up his pastoral work, and hie himself to a Trap- 
pist monastery—a desire which he crushed only 
at the almost positive command of his Bishop. 

At the time of which I write, a new Bishop 

had come to B-, a rather young man, gentle, 

amiable, sociable, in almost every way a marked 
contrast to Father Spillane. 

Father Billy used to narrate, with much glee 
and many chuckles, the following incident which 
occurred shortly after the new Bishop’s arrival. 

“At the High Mass, one Sunday,” said Billy, 
“the Bishop preached, and he took for his sub¬ 
ject: ‘Christ, the Prince of Peace,’ describing 
the mercy and loving-kindness of the Saviour, 

228 



THE BISHOP’S SERMON 


229 


His compassion for sinners, his treatment of 
the Prodigal Son, of Mary Magdalen, Zaccheus, 
Levi, the woman taken in adultery, etc. 

“In the manetime, the Vicar-Gineral sat in the 
stalls twisting and fidgeting, and glowering at 
the pracker, and acting ginerally as if he was 
going to explode at anny minute. 

“That same evening, at Vespers, Spillane him¬ 
self prached. And what does he do but talk of 
‘Christ, the King of War,’ taking for his text 
the words ‘I am come, not to bring peace, but 
the sword,’ telling his people all about the nar¬ 
row and thorny path to heaven, and the awful 
battles they’d have to wage, and the justice of 
God and so on. I heard at the time it was the 
most rousing sermon the Vicar-Gineral ever 
prached. 

“The first time I met him afther that I axed 
him what he meant by it. I knew, of coorse, but 
I wanted to hear him tell it. 

“ ‘Why, man,’ he answered me, ‘if I let that 
man go on with his mollycoddle talk, he’ll de¬ 
moralize me people.’ ” 


XXXVI 


HOW THE WILY PASTOR FOOLED THE SCHOOL 

EXAMINERS 

Father Billy was expecting a visit from the 
diocesan school examiners. So he inarched him¬ 
self over to his school one fine morning, and made 
the following little speech to the pupils. 

“A couple of young priests will be here in a 
few days to put questions to ye. Now I want 
ye to remimber this, and not to forget it. What¬ 
ever ye know, or whatever ye don’t know, don’t 
be afraid of thim. Put on a bowld front; con¬ 
fidence is more than half the battle. 

“If ye know the right answer to their question, 
give it, of coorse. If ye don’t know it, make a 
good guess at it. And, above all things, stick 
to yere answer right or wrong. If they ask ye 
what’s the capital of California, and ye say ‘St. 
Louis,’ say it out bowldly, and howld to it, like 
little min. 

“Tk’ examiners are very smart young min, 
and if they were putting questions to ye about 
something they have studied in the last five or 
tin years, ye’d have a mighty hard time to fool 
thim. They know their Scripture and philos- 

230 


FOOLING THE EXAMINERS 231 


ophy and theology well enough. But it’s manny 
a day since they studied their jography and spell¬ 
ing and arithmetic, and it’s most probable that 
they’ve forgotten nearly all they ever knew about 
thim. 

“If they find ye hesitating in yere answers, 
they’ll think ye mayn’t be right, but they won’t be 
sure, and they’ll keep on asking till they feel 
they’ve sthruck it right. But if ye tell thim like 
ye’re sure of it, they'll believe ye’re right.” 

The children did exactly as they were directed, 
and, as a result, passed a highly creditable exam¬ 
ination. At the dinner which followed, the 
examiners could scarcely find words strong 
enough to compliment the pastor on the fine 
showing his school had made. 

Then Father Billy up and told them the huge 
joke he had put over on them. 

“Ye’re a great pair of examiners, ye young im- 
posthers, that don’t know as much as the chil- 
dhren ye’re examining. It’s back to the primary 
school ye ought to be going yereselves. How¬ 
ever, I suppose ye’re thinking the same might 
be said of meself. And I don’t know but ye’re 
right. I’m afraid, bad as ye are, if we were all 
up before the primary board, it’s meself that’d 
have to go to the fut of the class. But some o’ 
ye boys seem to think ye have an eighth gift of 
the Holy Ghost besthowed on ye whin ye’re med 


232 


FATHER BILLY 


examiners, and I just wanted ye to see ye’re not 
a bit more infallible than His Holiness.” 


XXXVII 


AFTERWORD 

There is very much more in the same strain— 
and other strains, too—that could be written 
anent the genial, kindly old pastor, Father Billy 
O’Gorman, but I’ve about concluded that this is 
enough for the present. 

The incidents here set down are only the lights 
in Father Billy’s life. Certainly there were the 
dark shadows, too, which I have not touched on. 
Aye, good reader, it wasn’t all comedy, by any 
means, there were plenty of tragedies as well— 
as there are in the career of every priest. 

Should a sufficient number of readers be found, 
with the good taste needed to appreciate these 
few samples, the remainder of the outfit will be 
forthcoming. If there are not enough to recog¬ 
nize a good thing when they see it, of course 
there will be no more. You remember what the 
Lord Himself said about casting one’s pearls 
before-. 

There is scarcely any doubt that some will see, 
or think they see, in the dramatis personae of 
“Father Billy,” certain resemblances to them¬ 
selves or their acquaintances. That is inevitable 

233 




234 


FATHER BILLY 


in such a sketch as this, but such accidental like¬ 
nesses cannot with justice be blamed on the 
author, since he didn’t intend them. 

I sincerely trust that no offense will be taken 
where none is meant. This book has been written 
with love to all and malice to none. I can 
scarcely believe that any will prove so childish¬ 
ly pettish as to get peeved at the light anecdotes 
and jests of which the volume is largely made up. 

Certainly no full-grown man of sense and judg¬ 
ment can fail to perceive that all is said in the 
best of good-nature, with no intention or desire 
of giving pain. Nor is there anything here cal¬ 
culated to hurt any but the extremely super-sensi¬ 
tive. 

I suppose it is almost superfluous to state that 
the names employed in the booklet do not repre¬ 
sent any individuals of my acquaintance. Not 
in any single instance, so far as I know, is there 
an O’Gorman, an O’Donnell, a Cahalan, etc., 
who would answer to the description of his name¬ 
sake in “Father Billy.” In fact I am scarcely 
acquainted with any priests bearing the names 
I have used, in most cases. 

The purpose of the book is to give a few light 
pictures—miniatures—of a plain, whole-souled 
man of God whose one dominant aim and end, 
throughout a long life, was the glory of his 
Maker and the good of his fellow-men, whose big 


AFTERWORD 235 

heart was filled to repletion with benevolence and 
beneficence. 

So far as the little pictures go, they show that 
Father Billy wasn't much to look at, nor was he, 
by any means, a prodigy of intellect. He wasn’t 
the sort of man you’d be likely to pick from a 
crowd as anything out of the ordinary. And, of 
a certainty, he would be the very last to con¬ 
sider himself worthy of even such a scant, sketchy 
notice as this. 

I’ve often thought his outside was purposely 
designed to hide the real worth that lay beneath 
the surface. To the average, or casual, acquaint¬ 
ance, his general manner or style would likely 
convey only the impression of a jovial, well-fed, 
easy-going priest, who had found a “good thing,” 
and knew how to make the most of it. 

But those who knew him intimately—whether 
as pastor or colleague—were well aware that 
under his rough, home-spun cloak, he carried a 
heart of gold, and that his seemingly care-free, 
jesting manner concealed more genuine godliness 
than may be found beneath many a solemn, as¬ 
cetic face and bearing. 

It is not very likely that the name of William 
O’Gorman will ever be emblazoned upon the 
pages of history—either sacred or secular—but 
the noble, untiring, self-sacrificing efforts which 
this very human man made for God and his fel- 



236 


FATHEK BILLY 


low-men; the cheer and sunshine he brought into 
dull, drab and dreary lives; the lightening of 
life’s heavy burdens for all who came under his 
influence—these things are all entered, you may 
be perfectly sure, higher up and at greater length 
in the book of the recording angel, than the far 
more pretentious, but far less beneficial, achieve¬ 
ments of many of the world’s great idols. 

And I, for one, have no doubt whatsoever 
that he stands higher in the good graces of the 
only One Who really counts, than many of his 
own clerical brothers who held higher rank in 
the Church, and made a bigger splurge, because 
of their more flashy endowments of mind or body. 


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